


Just to Have Him for Myself

by sleepypoet



Category: Slipknot (Band)
Genre: (Shawn and Joey are only mentioned), Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Coffee Shops, Comfort, Communication, Denial of Feelings, Depression, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Embarrassment, Eventual Smut, Exes, First Time, Fist Fights, Fluff, Friendship, Hope, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Kinda?, M/M, Making Love, Making Up, Mental Breakdown, Strangers to Lovers, Vomiting, first time with another guy, paul has never stuck his dick in a man's ass is what i'm trying to say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:07:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27178981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepypoet/pseuds/sleepypoet
Summary: Work goes normally, business- or lack thereof- as usual. And it’s all the same for about a week. Nothing new, nothing exciting, nothing really worth getting out of bed for, but Paul still makes himself do so for some reason. So yeah, it’s all normal, all good, all peachy.That is, until Paul drives past that “for sale” sign again for the 50th time and realizes that it’s not there anymore. But other than that, nothing interesting has really happened.Wait. Oh?(or, the fic where Paul needs a therapist and Jim lacks decent window coverage)
Relationships: Paul Gray/Jim Root
Comments: 20
Kudos: 35





	1. A New Face

Paul sighs, flipping over the shop’s sign on the window to read “CLOSED”. He’s tired. He’s ready to go home. Being the only employee at the only record shop where he lives is stressful and exhausting but also boring and he wants to quit. But he doesn’t. He never has. It’s not like he has anything better to do. 

He walks to his car- his old, beat up car that he’s had since high school. He doesn’t like it much, but again, there’s nothing better. Not around where he lives, at least. There’s maybe one dealership? One that he never bothers going to, because everything seems way too expensive and is miles out of his paycheck’s league. And anyway, his car has some sentimental value to it, as cheesy as that sounds. It would be difficult for him to sell it, and would probably just end up in a dumpster either way.

Before opening the car door, Paul pauses to look back at the shop. Not that there’s much of a reason to- it’s the same place he goes to work at just about every day. But still, he looks back. It’s pretty run down, nothing too special. The place looks like it’s going out of business. Paul wonders how he still even gets business in this small town- everyone seems to know everyone, but no one ever comes to visit the shop. And he hasn’t seen a new face around town in what feels like centuries. Sometimes he wonders if every day is just the same thing playing on repeat- seeing the same people, working the same job with the same hours, eating the same meals… it’s always the same.

The only person who manages to take Paul out of his depressing, uneventful, bored-of-life loop is Corey, his closest friend. Oh yeah, Corey’s a _real_ party animal. Paul admires his enthusiasm for life (and anything else, really. That man never seems to run out of energy). Corey’s company often helps him get through the week, especially on the nights they get together for a drink. That makes Paul smile, thinking about all the embarrassing, drunken memories he’s shared with his friend. Like that one time they went to a strip club together. It was normal at first, up until Corey thought it was a good idea to climb up the stage so he could dance with the strippers. To be fair, he looked like he was having the time of his life, but he also looked like a complete and utter fool. But that’s just Corey. How can anyone not love him?

Paul slides into his car, closing the rusty door behind him and starting up the engine. That takes a few minutes. Yeah, she takes a while to get going. But that’s fine, it’s not like he’s in a rush to get anywhere or anything. All he ever does is work, anyway. Well, that and mess around on his bass. At this point he’s not even sure why he still plays- he’s never been in a band for longer than a few months, and he sure as hell can’t find the time to start one himself. So bass is just a side hobby. Nothing more, nothing less. As much as he wants to dream about playing in a band, it’ll never work out. Thinking about it makes him depressed, though, so he ignores the thought.

He pulls out of his parking spot, rolling down his window to smoke while he drives home. The orange glow of the sunset reflects off his sunglasses, while everything else is just a passing blur. 

Until something catches his eye. _A “for sale” sign?_ Paul can’t help but scoff at that. The house is really beat up. Like, that thing has seen some shit. The wooden panels are rotting away and the roof is practically falling apart. Whoever decides to buy that place (if anyone at all) has a lot of work to do. _Who the hell would wanna live here?_

Hopefully no one anytime soon, because the sign is right next to his house and he doesn't want new, potentially annoying neighbors to deal with.

By the time Paul pulls into his driveway, the sun has gone down almost completely. The slow descent of nighttime makes him feel something similar to sadness, but just not quite that. A somber loneliness, maybe? No, that’s stupid. He checks his phone to see a text from Corey, the only person who actually bothers to text him from time to time. He appreciates the gesture. Of course, it’s just a stupid meme, but still. At least he acknowledges him and reaches out- something he wishes his parents would do more often, and not just once in a blue moon.

Paul responds by taking a picture of the “for sale” sign in the lawn next to his, then saying:

“hey look at the fucking idiots who expect someone to buy their shitty house lmao.”

And that’s not just Paul being cynical- his neighborhood genuinely sucks. A lot. The houses are the cheapest of cheap, the neighbors are the whitest of trash, and there aren’t any fun places to go other than the pub downtown.

Corey almost immediately opens his text and sends back that stupid laughing-crying emoji that Paul hates for no specific reason, other than that just it looks dumb.

Then, suddenly, his phone starts buzzing, and Corey’s calling. Why, you may be wondering? Who knows? It’s Corey we’re dealing with here. Not wanting to ignore his friend, Paul answers.

“What?”

Some giggling on Corey’s end.

“Did you call me on accident again?”

The giggling stops.

“... are you drunk?”

Corey gasps in a fake offended tone. “How dare you assume I’ve been drinking on a Friday night!”

Then he adds, words slightly slurred, “Paulie, you should come over, because yes, I’m drunk off my ass, and I have beer in the fridge for both of us.”

Paul almost considers the offer, but then remembers how long his week has been and he really just wants to eat dinner and go to sleep.

“C’mon man, I just got home. I’m tired.” Paul exits his car and walks to his front door, fumbling with his keys.

Corey playfully groans. “Ugh, you’re no fun anymore, Paulie. Lighten up!”

Paul sighs. “Sorry, look, I’ve had a rough week, I’m not in a good mood, and I want- no, I need some sleep. Maybe next weekend?”

The other end is silent for a few seconds and Paul chews his lip ring, hoping he didn’t come off as an asshole.

“Yeah man, it’s cool, I get it. Next weekend, though- I’m holding you to that!”

Corey hangs up after that, and Paul finally fishes the correct key out to unlock his door. He feels bad for declining his friend’s request, but he wasn’t lying about the rough week. The slow business has been stressing him the hell out, given the record shop is his only source of income. He tries not to think too much about what’ll happen when the place inevitably ends up closing down, but it’s hard when it feels like it’ll happen any week now. He’d move out to find a better job in a better area but he doesn’t have the money for that, and none of his friends do, either. Maybe the good just needs to come to him instead, rather than Paul having to find it himself. 

He sets his wallet and keys down on the counter by the front door and scours through his fridge for something to eat. Then he remembers he was supposed to stop by the store on the way home. _Well shit_. Looks like it’s cereal for supper. Again. Hey, no big deal. Who ever said you can’t eat cereal for dinner, anyway?

Paul turns on the kitchen light and fixes himself a bowl of Lucky Charms, then sits down at his table, facing a window. And even though he’s eating, filling himself up with this sugary sweet sustenance, part of him still feels empty and unsatisfied. And it’s a feeling that’s only started recently, one that he’s never really dealt with before, and isn’t quite sure how to deal with. So he chooses to ignore it. I mean, how else is it going to go away? 

But still, it’s hard, when every day it feels like this emptiness is clawing him up and he just doesn’t feel like himself. He hasn’t told Corey about it yet. He probably never will. It wasn’t ever really a big deal up until now. Because now it’s affecting his mental health, a lot, and he knows that Corey wouldn’t understand. Nor would his boss, or anyone else in the world, it feels like. It’s a lonely feeling. It’s a fucking horrible feeling, and it makes him so dependent on other sustanances, bad sustanances, the ones he told himself to never go back to but it’s too much, this feeling is so much yet it’s nothing at all, and now he’s pacing, walking into his bedroom’s bathroom, shifting around various plastic containers until he finds the pills, the ones that make it all better. The ones that make him feel good again, whole again, they make him feel like himself. Like he’s not just living the sad life of a workaholic who can’t find a passion, or someone to love, but instead he’s living the life of a happy man who isn’t addicted to anything at all, no, not at all. This is real happiness. This is what happiness is, right? Isn’t it? Paul can’t tell anymore, it’s all blending together, days are becoming weeks and weeks are becoming months and it’s all the same. It’s all the same. 

And now he wakes up. His mind is fuzzy and the world is dizzy and he feels guilty. The guilt is overwhelming. The guilt of knowing what he did the night before, those pills he took that he shouldn’t have, but the stress was building up and he needed a release and he wanted to feel, he wanted to feel so bad. _I just needed to feel something, for God’s sake. It won’t happen again._ That’s what he tells himself. 

Paul checks his watch, the one on his wrist that he didn’t bother taking off before he passed out. It’s 3:30 in the morning. He has to be at work in 6 hours. He thinks. Everything is still a little hazy. His back is sore from the awkward position he slept in, but he manages to pick himself up off the ground and carry himself to his bed. But he doesn’t go back to sleep. He just lies there, awake, staring up at the blank white ceiling. In a way, he identifies with the ceiling. It’s cold, lonely, boring, and it feels dead. Paul feels dead. He feels like he’s a walking corpse, just barely getting by each day. 

_What happened to me?_

Everything has only gone downhill since graduation. The past 12 years have been a slow descent into drugs and depression. Maybe he should have stayed with Shawn and Joey- they’ve been doing good. They’ve been doing great. They’ve gone and started their own band, they’re fucking famous now. 

_That could have been me._

The last time Paul heard from them was maybe a year ago. But it’s his own fault that they lost touch. Instead of accepting their help, he pushed them away and told them he’d be fine on his own. That he could get through this by himself.

_Hah. That was a lie._

Now the only friend he has left is Corey, an alcoholic who isn’t doing any better in his life than Paul is. And neither of them can help each other, because neither of them have the time or resources to. So they just suffer together, not really sure how to solve either their problems.

Paul glances out his bedroom window. From here, he can see the empty house next to his. Part of him is hoping that whoever decides to move in (again, if anyone at all) will be someone he can get along with, but if that were to happen, he’d probably end up pushing them away too. Because they’d inevitably try to help him, or tell him to get help, and then Paul would say “Thanks for being concerned, but I’m fine, I’ll be fine, I can get through this myself”, then give a reassuring smile. And then avoid them until they go away on their own.

It’s been two hours. Sleep feels so close yet so far. It’s like this every night. Just torture. No relief, no sweet embrace, no comfort. Just darkness.

And suddenly it’s 8 in the morning, and Paul’s rolling himself out of bed. Work starts in an hour. 

The morning goes by slow, and Paul spends most of it in the shower. It’s nice and warm and he doesn’t want to leave, but he has to, because he really can’t afford to be late and potentially fired. There’s nothing to eat for breakfast- he ate the last of the cereal the night before. Going to the store this week is a must.

His car takes about a year or two to start up, and then he’s on his way. He drives past the wooden “for sale” sign again, but this time instead of scoffing, he just feels sad. Even though he never really knew his neighbors, knowing that they’re gone gives Paul an odd feeling of abandonment. He’s tired of ending up alone.

Work goes normally, business- or lack thereof- as usual. And it’s all the same for about a week. Nothing new, nothing exciting, nothing really worth getting out of bed for, but Paul still makes himself do so for some reason. So yeah, it’s all normal, all good, all peachy. 

That is, until Paul drives past that “for sale” sign again for the 50th time and realizes that it’s not there anymore. But other than that, nothing interesting has really happened.

Wait. Oh?

Paul wonders who in their right mind would choose to buy a house in an old, depressing area like this, but eventually he comes to the conclusions that either A: his new neighbor is out of their mind, or B: they had no other options- in which Paul feels incredibly sorry for them. Moving to this town is a death wish for anyone who actually wants to be successful in life.

So the day after, Paul notices a moving truck in front of the house. And as Paul drives home after work, he considers walking over next door to greet the new neighbor- y’know, just to be nice. But he has groceries that need to be unloaded (he finally went to the store after deciding a week without breakfast was fairly unenjoyable), and it’s late and Paul doesn’t want to bother them. So pleasantries can wait.

After putting away various food items (as well as bottles of questionable medications), Paul rings up Corey, just to give him an update- let him know the house was actually bought, what the neighbor’s car looks like, how many boxes he saw in the moving truck, etc etc. Typical nosy neighbor things.

And all Corey really has to say is, “So is she hot?”

And to this, Paul stops to think, because he hasn’t even gotten the chance to see the neighbor yet and so he doesn’t know whether they’re a dude or a chick. The thought hadn’t quite crossed his mind yet.

And so he responds with “I dunno, haven’t seen ‘em. I’ll let you know, though.” 

But he also doesn’t really care whether they’re male or female, because either way, Paul doesn’t plan on talking to them much in the future. Introductions are about as far as he’ll let that relationship get. 

The next day at work, Paul lounges lazily in his chair by the register, patting his hands on his thighs to the beat of the songs. He’s heard them all a thousand times- it feels like they’ve been playing on repeat for centuries now. _Can’t my boss find a new playlist?_

The day goes by painfully slow. But, to Paul’s surprise, one person stops by in the morning and actually buys a CD. _Wow, what a miracle. But will that pay my bills for this month? No, no it won’t._

So now it’s mid afternoon, the sun is high, the sky is blue, and Paul is sitting inside waiting for business.

The bell on the shop’s door rings, alerting him of a customer. He forces on his most convincing “customer-friendly” smile, and greets them with “Hey, what can I do for you today?”

The customer is a tall man with a lanky frame, and he has long brunette hair with a full beard. He’s dressed in a black leather jacket paired with skinny ripped jeans and boots, which takes Paul by surprise- punk attire isn’t common around where he lives

Paul clears his throat, then comments in his usual, more casual tone of voice, “Hey, I’ve never seen you around before. You new to this part of town?”

The man glances around the shop, ignores the question, then asks “Hey, do you have any Metallica vinyls?”

_Wow, ok, rude. But at least he has good taste._

Paul scoots out from behind his desk and mumbles a quick “Sure, yeah, right over here, just follow me.”

He leads the tall man towards the section labeled “Metal” and shuffles around the CDs for a bit, then pulls out the only Metallica record they have in stock.

“That’ll be about 30 bucks, just meet me back at the register when you’re done looking around.”

The man nods his head in acknowledgment, gives a small “thanks”, and waltzes over to check out the guitars. Paul, on the other hand, trudges back to the register and waits for him to finish browsing.

And while he’s browsing, Paul stares at him. Not in a creepy way or anything. Just in a hey-this-guy-seems-kinda-interesting sort of way. Paul wonders if he actually plays guitar or if he’s just looking, and what other bands he listens to, and who he even is, because that last question never got answered.

After about 5 minutes, the customer finally walks up to the register to pay. Paul, still curious about who the new face is, asks for the second time, “Sooo, you’re new around here, right? I’ve never seen your face.”

The man, reaching into his pocket for his wallet, responds, “Oh, uh, yeah, I just moved in like yesterday. I like the area, and the people around here are nice enough, haha.”

Paul pauses for a second, making sure he heard the man correctly, then half jokingly comments, “You’re saying you actually like this place? Are you crazy, man? I’ve been wanting to leave since I moved here.”

Paul takes the customer’s card and swipes it.

The man softly chuckles. “Oh, I mean, it’s not the best place, but the house was cheap and I haven’t had any problems so far- so it’s good enough for me.” He then gives Paul a shy smile, full of something that Paul can’t quite place. Happiness, maybe? Probably. Whatever it is, it makes Paul’s heart flutter a bit. He ignores the feeling.

Then, after a stupidly long amount of time, Paul realizes that oh, this must be his new neighbor. I mean, that would make sense, right? He did just move in yesterday, after all.

“So, new guy, I’m assuming you’re my neighbor now, because I saw a moving truck next to my house just last night. Shouldn’t you be busy unpacking or something?”

The bearded man shrugs. “Nah, it’s not like I’m in a rush or anything. I’ve got all the time in the world to dick around before focusing on what’s actually important, y’know?”

Paul grins at his carefree attitude. “Yeah man, I get that.”

He slides the vinyl into a plastic bag and hands it to the man along with his card. “Well anyway, have fun settling in and unpacking, and thanks for stopping by.”

The man smiles at Paul and responds “Thanks, and no problem”, then turns to walk out of the shop.

“Oh, uh, sir, wait-”

He stops and looks back at Paul expectantly.

“I forgot to ask, what’s your name? It’s kind of tradition around here to know everyone’s name and face, if that makes sense.”

The customer pauses for a second, processing what Paul had just said, because huh, that’s kind of odd, but whatever.

“It’s Jim. Jim Root.”

About three hours later, it’s closing time, and Paul’s still sitting at the register. But he’s thinking. He’s thinking pretty hard. 

_Ugh, I shouldn’t have been so friendly with him, now he’s probably gonna expect me to help him unpack or something._

But that’s not so bad. What he’s really worried about is that hey, that Jim guy was pretty cool, which means they’re gonna get along well, which means a friendship, which means getting personal. And getting personal means Jim actually learning about Paul, learning information about him that’s deeper than surface level, and that’s kinda scary. Because he’ll eventually inevitably figure out that Paul isn’t just some friendly neighbor who works at the record shop, but no, he’s a horribly depressed drug addict who can’t seem to keep up with any sort of a relationship, or even friendship. And Paul doesn’t want Jim knowing that. Paul doesn’t want anyone knowing that. 

_Ok, it’s fine, I just won’t let it get to that point. It can’t be that hard, right?_

Haha. Wrong. But Paul doesn’t know that. And he probably won’t know that until it’s too late.

He sighs and figures it’s time to close up for the day. Usually that’s his boss’s job, but when was the last time his boss even showed up to work? Paul can’t remember. And he doesn’t really care as long as he gets paid.

After driving home, Paul pulls into his driveway and glances to the right. Huh, Jim’s car is nice. A lot nicer than his, at least. It’s a bright cherry red truck that looks well taken care of, while Paul’s is old and rusty and probably on the verge of sudden combustion. 

But nevermind that- no point in comparing stupid things like cars. But as he steps out of his own truck, he also notices a few decorations that Jim has already hung up on the front porch. There’s a few plants and even a cozy looking hammock. _I guess this guy really plans on making that crack shack feel like a home._

In a way, Paul admires Jim’s optimistic outlook on things. Even though they didn’t talk much earlier, he can tell that Jim is the type of guy to look on the bright side of things- something that Paul has forgotten how to do as of lately. But again, no point in comparing each other. Sooner or later he suspects Jim will fall into the same hopeless daily routine that he himself has stumbled into.

But the more he thinks about that, the emptier he feels. Because really, when he starts to ponder about his life choices, he begins to realize that he’s gone too far down the path of his bleak, unhappy way of living to ever go back. Paul really doesn’t believe that anything can save him. Not a friend, not a counselor, not even the bottles of pills in his bathroom that are really the entire reason he’s living such a shitty life in the first place. But he keeps taking them, because what else can he do? He’s broke, he’s passionless, he’s addicted, and all he wants is to feel good. 

Paul shakes his head and ignores his thoughts (like always), sauntering through the wooden door of his house. This time, instead of cereal for dinner, he makes himself a fancy plate Hot Pockets with a side of painkillers. He’ll end up with a massive headache in the morning, but it’s worth it for the time being. 

He downs a handful with a glass of water and flicks his eyes up and out the kitchen window while he washes the pills down. Paul catches a glimpse of Jim’s house and notices one of his upstairs windows lit up. The window doesn’t have any curtains or blinds, so Paul can see straight into his house- and from where he’s sitting, it looks like it’s possibly his bedroom. But that makes Paul feel like he’s intruding on his neighbor’s privacy, so he looks away. 

Until he catches sight of that same neighbor, the tall and lanky man with admittedly pretty hair, walking past said window. And Paul can’t help but stare, because he’s nosy and he wants to see what Jim’s up to. And he almost regrets that decision when Jim begins removing layers, beginning with his leather coat. Almost.

Paul freezes. _Would I be considered gay if I kept watching?_

For a split second he looks away out of pure guilt, but something’s making him turn his head back around towards the window. It’s probably just the pills, right? Yeah, that’s it. They’re just making him act weird. It’s not like he’d be doing this had he not taken any tonight.

He continues watching Jim undress, as he now removes a white skin-tight tank top. Paul stirs a bit, chewing on his lip ring. _What the hell am I doing?_

Now with his torso exposed, Paul notices things that he hadn’t when he met Jim earlier today. Like how he’s not as lanky as he seemed, but instead he’s pleasingly fit, and how he has some really defined back muscles. Not to mention his long toned arms, and his slim waist that seems a bit too attractive for a man to have. Even from where Paul is sitting, Jim’s skin looks so healthy and soft, and craveable. And since Paul can really only see Jim’s back, he can only imagine what those delicate hands look like as he unbuttons those tight skinny jeans, the ones that fit his ass just right-

_Woah, woah, WOAH. Hold up._

Paul quickly shuts his blinds, feeling his face flush red. _What the fuck was that?_

He turns himself towards the kitchen table and grabs the bottle of painkillers, looking for any odd side effects. But of course there’s nothing- or at least, nothing that could explain why the hell he just got half hard from watching his male neighbor strip. Since he can’t blame that on the pills, he blames it on drowsiness instead. Yup, he’s just tired and horny. Happens to the best of us. Yeah.

_Fuck this, I’m going to bed._


	2. Some Sort of Feeling

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Paul groans and rolls over on his side, facing away from the obnoxious noise.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Maybe if he keeps ignoring it, the sound will go away.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

He sighs. _I guess not._

He turns back over- with his eyes still closed- to silence his alarm. Which would have worked, if it was actually his alarm that had been making the noise. Confused, Paul opens his eyes to see his alarm has already been silenced. But the noise continues. He then looks a few inches away from his alarm and notices his phone buzzing. _Oh._

Paul doesn’t have to wonder who’s calling, because of course it’s Corey. It’s always Corey. He promptly grabs his phone off of his nightstand and puts it on speaker.

“Hey?”

“Guess what day it is?” Corey sounds excited.

Paul has to pause and think for an admittedly embarrassing amount of time. “Uhm, honestly, I can’t remember. I just know I don’t have work today.”

Corey laughs at this. “It’s Saturday, you big ol’ goof. We made plans to hang out on the weekend- are you at least able to remember that?”

Oh. Has it really already been a week? “Yeah, I am. Kinda. This week went by pretty fast, I guess I just lost track of time.”

“Well, you promised me over the phone, and that means you can’t back out, no matter how tired you may be. I don’t even care. You and I are going out for drinks. Got it? Good. And be ready by 5, I’m coming over!”

“Corey, wait, you can’t just-”

And then the call ends. Paul figures he doesn’t have much of a choice in this. But then he wonders why Corey had to call so early in the morning for plans at 5, until he checks the time on his phone and realizes he slept in until 1:00. Right. That makes more sense.

He then realizes he’s not even in PJ’s, and is still fully clothed, minus the shoes he must have kicked off before he climbed into bed. Paul assumes he just crashed and forgot to change, or was too lazy to change, but either way these jeans are way too uncomfortable in all the wrong areas and he wants them off. 

Hm… jeans. That reminds Paul of something, but he can’t seem to remember what. Tight jeans. Hmm…

Now that he thinks about it, he can’t really even remember much of the night before. Everything seems kinda hazy, a little fuzzy, a little unclear. But whatever, right? He doubts anything important happened, or at least anything worth remembering.

Paul rolls himself out of bed and yanks off his jeans, then searches through his dresser for sweatpants. Or anything comfortable, really. 

_Well… I have about 4 hours before I really have to do anything today…_

All this freetime and no clue how to spend it. Paul is used to just laying in bed all weekend, but something is making him want to do something productive. Which is odd, because he’s been productive literally all week, and sleeping in all day does sound nice. But he just has an itch to do something. Then he remembers that oh, yeah, he has a bass guitar (many, actually), one which nearly caused him to go bankrupt when he bought it, and he’s barely touched it since. So yeah, maybe that would be fun. Just to pass time.

He walks out of his bedroom and to the stairs leading down to his basement. Now that he thinks about it, he really hasn’t really been in his basement for months now. He’s been so caught up with life that he hasn’t taken the time to play bass. Which sucks. But hey, he has the time now, so why not?

Paul flicks on the light switch and heads down the wooden stairs into the soundproof room. When he had bought his house, he spent about a month or so applying padding to his basement’s walls so the noise from his bass wouldn’t bother the neighbors. It took him a while, but it’s one of the few things he’s proud of- that, and his setup. 

Paul’s face lights up as he admires the room, suddenly reminded of all his surprisingly well polished guitars hanging up on the wall in front of him. He’d forgotten how much he used to love making music, whether it was for serious projects or just playing around for fun. 

There’s one bass in particular though, one that makes Paul’s heart skip a beat when it catches his eyes. It was the first bass he ever got, one that his grandmother had bought for him on his 14th birthday. At first glance it’s nothing special, but Paul still feels the same excitement he felt the day he received it. He sighs and lets the warm memories of his grandmother flood his mind, back to a wholesome part of his childhood untouched by his adult life and responsibilities… and depression. 

But nevermind that. Paul finds a wooden stool next to an amp and slumps down, grabbing a shiny red bass off the wall. It feels good in his hands- it feels right. _I should do this more often._

He plugs it in and strums a familiar tune, and the sweet low vibrations fill his chest and stomach like a liquid remedy. The bass’ strings hum against his fingertips in a way that makes Paul stupidly grin, because he forgot how nice this felt. As he plays, he allows his mind to wander. He thinks about everything that’s happened lately, because he hasn’t really given himself time to process much of anything- and he feels like he’s forgetting something. _Did something happen last night?_ It seems kinda hazy, but he’ll probably remember sooner or later.

Before he can realize how long he’s been playing, it’s around 3 in the afternoon and there’s a bit of commotion going on outside. Paul carefully hangs his bass back up and curiously finds his way upstairs to peek out the kitchen window. 

In the house over, he spots a new moving truck parked in front of Jim’s house. He had assumed that his neighbor had already finished unpacking, but apparently that’s not the case. Paul finds Jim standing at his driveway in a tank top and sweatpants, presumably waiting for the truck driver to help him carry his boxes inside.

A large man with long black hair steps out of the truck and begins conversing with Jim, making all sorts of different hand gestures towards the house and the truck- probably just discussing business stuff. Despite this, Paul’s eyes stay glued on Jim. He’s really tall. Like, he practically towers over the driver, and the driver has to be at least 6’4. But it’s not like Paul is checking Jim out or anything, he’s just admiring his height. And his hair, and his body. You know, as straight guys do. Nothing unusual.

After a minute of the two talking about whatever, they begin heading towards the back of the moving truck. Jim comes back around first, holding up one end of an old looking leather sofa, with the other man not far behind and carrying the other end. _Huh. He’s pretty strong._

But Paul decides that watching his neighbor through a window is creepy and also a waste of time, so he checks his watch instead and concludes that now would be a good time to shower before Corey shows up. 

In his bathroom, he strips down and runs some hot water. While he’s washing his hair, he thinks about what he should eat tonight, because he really hasn’t eaten all day. Paul almost considers going for something healthy, but he’s gonna be drinking tonight and that sure as hell isn’t healthy. And what did he even eat for dinner last night anyway? His brain rattles as he tries to remember, if only those damn painkillers didn’t make his memory so foggy.

And then he finally remembers. Not just what he ate last night, but also why he didn’t finish eating, and it has something to do with that neighbor of his… Ah, the window incident. The memory hits him like a brick, and he’s wondering how the hell he managed to forget that. Part of him wishes he hadn’t remembered, because there’s no straight way to explain what happened. And Paul does not like that. So he ignores the thought and decides to try and forget it again.

Not long after his shower, Paul lays on his couch, barely paying attention to whatever is playing on the TV. Corey should be showing up any minute, and Paul grows more and more anxious to see him as the time passes. He hasn’t seen his friend in a while, and they certainly have a lot of catching up to do. 

Outside his front door, Paul can hear the faint footsteps of said friend approaching his house. It’s not like Paul has really precise hearing or anything like that- no, Corey is just a really loud human. 

Knock, knock, knock.

“Paulie! Get your ass up and unlock the door, will ya?”

Paul grins. Good ol’ Cor. “Yeah yeah, just give me a minute!”

He sits up and turns the TV off, sliding his shoes on as he heads towards the door. It opens with a click, and Corey smiles up at him. The shorter man is leaning up against Paul’s porch railing, dressed in leather pants and a grey band shirt. Corey examines Paul’s attire, which is just jeans and a black hoodie.

“Dude. I gave you 4 hours to get ready. You couldn’t put together something a little more stylish?”

Paul scoffs at this. “Since when do you care about style? We’re going out for beer, for fuck’s sake!”

Huffing and crossing his arms, Corey remarks, “Well maybe I think that bartender chick is hot, and maybe I’m tryna get her to look my way. And don’t you want to look nice for your new neighbor, anyway?” Corey glances to the house next to Paul’s.

“First of all, my neighbor is a man, not a chick, and second of all, I’m not gonna dress up all nice just so you can get your dick sucked- take it or leave it!”

Corey drops his arms to his side, a sign of defeat. “Alright, fine. Now get your ass in my car- tonight's gonna be fun.”

Not even two hours into the night, Corey is already shit-faced and drilling Paul with questions about his life, as well as his new neighbor.

“So… is he hot?” Corey giggles to himself.

Paul nearly chokes on his beer. “Man, the hell are you talkin’ about? I’m not gay.”

Corey mumbles something incoherent and pats Paul on his back, then calls the bartender over for another Budweiser. Paul has barely gotten through two beers, while this has to be at least Corey’s fifth. 

“You’re gonna regret all that in the morning, you know.”

Corey shrugs. “I just like seeing that blondie bounce around. I think she’s into me.” He hics, then spins his stool around to fully face Paul, and almost falls on his face in the process. 

“But anyway… how’s work going? Business any good?”

Paul sighs and takes a swig of his beer. “Nah man, just the same old shit, you know? We’re only barely making enough money to get by- my boss Chris almost considered shutting down last month, and I had to convince him not to.”

Corey gives him a sympathetic look through his greyish-blue eyes. “Damn, sorry to hear about that, dude. Ya know, the porn shop isn’t doin’ all that great, either. No one’s buyin’ magazines and cassettes anymore! It’s all about the virtual stuff now.”

As he rants, Paul takes the time to slip into his own little world. The bar is dimly lit, and the neon blue and red signs blink hypnotically all around him. The alcohol begins setting in, and he relaxes, sponging up the laid back environment that wraps him up in a nice warm feeling. Chitter chatter and live music fills up Paul’s ears, along with the slurred words from the man next to him.

“Paul… Paulie…”

He takes another swig from his beer. One of the bartenders gives him a look- not the blonde woman, but instead a younger man, with dark hair and pretty brown eyes. Paul has seen him working at this bar before, but he’s never really talked to him- he’s just some stranger. Paul holds his gaze, not for any particular reason other than the fact that he’s drunk and not really sure how else to react. The man throws him a wink and quickly turns back around to mix drinks, and Paul just winks back. Because hey, that’s how most people would respond, right? 

“Paul, heeey, listen to meee.”

Paul ignores whoever’s calling him and drinks some more. And then he abruptly stops. _Wait, was that guy hitting on me? And did I just return the gesture?_

He furrows his brows. No, surely it was just a bro thing. Nothing weird about winking at a handsome guy. But he can’t ignore the faint blush coloring his cheeks, and the reaction his body is giving. _What’s with me and guys lately?_

“PAUL! EARTH TO PAUL!”

Paul jolts upright and shoots a glare at Corey. “Dude, what the fuck do you want?”

Corey slightly recoils, surprised by the sudden burst of anger from his usually laid-back friend. “I, uh, I asked you a question, and you didn’t answer.”

Sighing, Paul spins on his stool to face Corey and props his arm up on the side of the bar. “Sorry, sorry, I just had something on my mind. What did you ask?”

“I asked if you’ve gotten the chance to meet your neighbor. You two talk yet?”

Paul doesn’t know why, but his heart skips a beat at that question. “Oh, yeah, actually. He dropped by the record shop- seems like a cool guy, I guess. Said his name is Jim.” He purposefully keeps it vague, not wanting to overshare and tell Corey about what happened the night before. Which, given his drunken state, really wouldn’t take much.

“Mm, I see. What does he look like?”

Paul freezes. “Uh, you know, normal I guess. Pretty tall, kinda lean, nice arms, long legs, stuff like that. And nice hair. It looks like it would be soft. I dunno though.”

It takes Paul a minute to register the words that just came out of his mouth. He then quickly adds “Not that I really care about that sort of stuff or anything, haha. Just speculation, you know?”

He glances over to Corey, who’s sitting there with a stupid grin on his face. “Paulie-”

“Don’t. Don’t even, man. You know I’m straight, shut up, don’t even think about it.”

Corey shuts his mouth, but his smug little smile remains there. It’s like he just knows Paul is hiding something, the clever fucker. And he’s not going to budge until Paul lets up and finally tells him whatever it is that he didn’t tell him.

But two can play that game. Paul huffs and rolls his eyes, and starts his third beer. _Don’t give in._

Corey’s eyes burn holes into the side of his head. He doesn’t even have to look over to know that he’s still staring, still testing his will. The sober part of Paul, the stubborn side of him, is screaming not to tell Corey but all the alcohol is saying “Well what could go wrong?”

Lots of things could go wrong. Corey could never let Paul live it down, and tease him for the rest of his life. Or Corey could get grossed out (which is pretty unlikely, but still) and never want to see Paul again.

But he can’t keep it from Corey forever, and sooner or later it’ll come out anyway. I mean, it’s not even that bad, right? Getting turned on by an admittedly attractive male as he undresses, unaware that he’s even being watched?

Ok, yeah, that’s kinda bad, but Paul just needs to get it off of his chest and maybe talk it out with someone.

Corey shuffles on his stool and clears his throat expectantly. “I can do this all night, Paul… just tell me what’s been on your mind!”

God dammit, Cor. To hell with him and his stupid ability to get people to say what he wants to hear.

“Alright, alright, just… don’t judge me, alright? It’s nothing that bad, really…”

Corey encouragingly nods his head, eyes wide with anticipation.

“So… last night, yeah? I was just eating dinner, whatever, and I see Jim. He’s in his bedroom, I think, I couldn’t really tell because I could only see him through my window. And um… he starts undressing. Like a normal person. I know I should have looked away, but for some reason I couldn’t, and he just- I just- ugh, man, I found him really attractive. Like, to the point where I was checking out his ass, and I- I literally got a fuckin boner. I don’t even know what happened.”

It’s silent for a while, and for a second Paul is worried that maybe he shouldn’t have said all that, but then Corey snorts as if he had expected this much. Anger flares up in Paul’s chest because hey, this isn’t a laughing matter, stop that.

“Fuck are you laughin’ at? I’m being genuine!”

Corey shakes his head. “I’m not making fun of you, dude, I’m just laughing at how naïve you are sometimes…”

_What? Naïve?_

“Paul, have you ever considered that you may not be all that straight? I mean, fuck man, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a happy relationship with a woman, and you haven’t even dated since highschool!”

Paul eyes Corey skeptically. “What are you trying to say?”

“Oh my god. Do I really have to spell this out for you? Paul. You are probably, most definitely, absolutely gay. In all my years of knowing you, you have never made the effort to approach a woman romantically, and now you’re telling me you just got turned on by a dude. What more proof do I need?”

_Oh. Huh._

Now that is definitely an interesting point. It certainly explains a lot, that’s for sure. But… part of Paul just can’t believe it. He’s 30- how can he just now be figuring this out?

“I dunno, Cor. It’s a lot to think about, and we came out here to have a good time, not figure out my sexual desires and whatnot… I’d rather save this topic for another day, maybe when I’m sober or somethin’...” 

Corey shrugs. “Yeah yeah, the whole ‘save it for another day’ excuse. I’m telling you, man- and I know you better than I know myself- you’re definitely into dudes. And I don’t even care if you don’t believe me! You’ll realize it sooner or later, I just know it.”

And then Paul wakes up with a splitting headache. He can barely remember the events from last night past that conversation- he just knows he drank way more than he should have. But it was nice, and he’s sure he had a good time.

He then realizes that he’s not in his bed, and instead he’s on the couch and still in his clothes. And based on the bright sunlight filtering through his blinds, he slept in until noon again. Paul attempts to sit up, but the sudden rush of dizziness tells him to lay down for just a little longer. 

But… his body wants pills. The painkillers will make the headache go away. So before he can really think about what he’s doing, he’s slowly making his way into the bathroom, and a handful of opioids are making their way down his throat. It’s satisfying.

Somewhere outside, Paul can hear the sound of a truck starting up, so of course he goes to check it out. Because he’s nosy and bored and he really has nothing better to do. And… it’s the same truck from yesterday? And the large mover is waving a goodbye to Jim, whom Paul can’t see from the window he’s peering out of. The scene doesn’t seem like anything unusual.

But wait. Why…?

Wasn’t that guy parked there yesterday? And he’s just now leaving? Well, that’s not too odd. Maybe he just had to spend the night, considering there aren’t any motels around here. That’s awfully nice of Jim to let him crash. The black haired man drives off, and all is well, all is normal.

Though for some reason, the event leaves Paul with an odd taste in his mouth. Because hey, that actually isn’t really normal, and strangers don’t just spend the night at each other’s houses. Unless… 

No. Paul doesn’t want to think about that. He’s not sure why, but he just doesn’t. And what are the chances that Jim is gay, anyway? 

Oddly enough, that doesn’t make Paul feel any better about the situation.

Work. Oh, how Paul grows tired of it. It’s only Monday afternoon and he’s already set to clock out for the weekend. But today, instead of idly standing around near the register like he usually does, he decides to tune the guitars that are hanging up on the shop’s wall. He can’t remember the last time they’ve been tuned, and he’s certain that his boss doesn’t keep them in check. It’ll take him a while, but he doesn’t have anything better to do.

He pulls out a stool and gets to work, mainly just to pass time. The bell on the shop’s door rings and Paul shouts a quick “Come on in, take your time,” without glancing up from the bass in his hands. 

“Oh, hey there, neighbor.”

_Oh._

Paul looks up at the tall man in front of him. Up close, Paul catches things that he didn’t the first time, like Jim’s dark green eyes that make his stomach do little flips. “Ah, um, hey Jim. How have you been?”

Jim shrugs. “Decent enough. I just came by because I wanted to check out the guitars. There’s nowhere else around here that sells em’, ya know?”

Paul finds difficulty in making eye contact with Jim. Before he can respond, Jim adds, “Oh, by the way, I don’t think I ever caught your name.”

His hands fumble around on the bass in an attempt to look busy, but that’s hard because Jim has a really nice voice and it’s distracting. “Name’s Paul. Feel free to try out any of the guitars, but they’re probably not in tune.”

There’s a pause, and Paul assumes the conversation is over, but then Jim pulls up a stool and sits about 4 feet away from him, then grabs a guitar off the wall. “Oh, I can help you tune if you want. Seems like a lot to do on your own. Are you the only guy working here or something?”

Paul’s heart thuds in his chest as the bearded man scoots his stool closer to his. _Why am I getting so nervous? He’s just a normal dude._

“Uh, yeah, it’s just me and my boss. But my boss barely shows up half of the time, haha.”

Jim nods in acknowledgement. Then there’s silence, but the silence makes Paul’s hands feel sweaty and he doesn’t really want the conversation to end there. 

“So what exactly do you do for a living?”

Jim grins. “Glad you asked. I’ve been working on this solo project for a while now, it’s like a jazz album, ya know? I’m really excited to release it.”

Paul looks at Jim, somewhat surprised. He wasn’t expecting the man to be into that genre. “Oh, that’s cool, man. I haven’t really made music since highschool, honestly. Maybe I should get back into it.”

Jim makes a questioning noise. “Yeah? What kind of stuff?”

Paul opens his mouth to answer, but his words fall short when the two make sudden eye contact. His mouth goes dry as green eyes pierce him with some sort of feeling that Paul just really can’t place. It’s an oddly intimate moment and it makes Paul uncomfortable.

He glances away. “Eh, like, metal I guess. Used to be in a band with two guys from my high school, but we lost touch…”

_And it’s all your fault that you lost touch. Because you can’t keep anyone around, can you? They tried so hard to help you and you just pushed them away._

Paul clenches his hand around the neck of the bass. _Shut up, shut up, I don’t need this right now-_

“Hey, are you good?”

Paul catches the concerned look on Jim’s face and immediately regrets it. _Why does he care?_

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just zoned out, that’s all.”

Jim doesn’t seem entirely convinced, but he drops the subject anyway.

“Well anyway, I’m actually really liking this guitar, and I did originally intend to make a purchase today, so…”

Thankful for the change of topic, Paul sets the bass down and walks back to the register, gesturing Jim to follow him.

“Ah, that’ll be about $200. If you want, I can throw in a free pick.”

Jim grins and sarcastically comments, “Woah, a whole free pick? What a steal!”

He then hands over his card and mumbles, “Actually yeah the pick would be nice, I lose those suckers all the time…”

Paul chuckles. “Heh, I get you, man. I’ve got the same problem.” _Although you haven’t even lost a pick in ages… because you’ve barely been playing bass lately. You lazy piece of shi-_

Paul ignores his thoughts and grabs Jim’s card, lightly brushing the other man’s fingers as he does so. His face flushes red at the initial contact; Jim’s hands are soft and warm, nothing like Paul had been expecting. Not that he had been thinking about what Jim’s hands would feel like or anything.

Jim clears his throat. “Uh… you can take it.”

Paul’s eyes widen as he realizes that his hand is still awkwardly hovering near Jim’s, just barely touching him. He clears his throat and swipes his card, then fishes a pick out of one of the counter’s drawers. 

“You um, you don’t need a bag, do you? Haha. Kidding. Uh, I’m assuming you know how to take care of the guitar n’ everything, so… enjoy.”

Jim flashes a smile. “Thanks, man. And hey, stop by my place sometime- I could use the company! Cause y’know, I’m pretty new around here and all.”

Paul nods. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

The taller man turns to leave. Paul watches him on the way out. He’ll probably never visit him, but it would have been rude to say so.

Paul lays in his bed, giggling like a dumbass. Because it’s 10:00 at night and the opiates make him feel giddy. They make him forget about his current life, and instead they carry him away into a better place, where he feels untouchable and actually happy. At this point he doesn’t even care that it’s not real happiness- it’s a good feeling so that’s good enough for him.

He wakes up nauseous. But he doesn’t feel guilty this time. The nausea has become bearable, as well as the other side effects. Because in the end, it’s worth it for the few hours of ecstasy. 

Another day of work. Paul’s boss finally decides to show, after almost a month of absence. But it’s not like Paul can say anything about it- he’s the boss. And he has a temper. So… that would not end well. 

Chris pokes his head out of the backroom to check up on Paul.

“Any business?”

His words are slurred. He always drinks on the job- it’s practically all he does. 

“No, not yet.”

Chris shrugs and shuts the door without another word. Paul wonders if he even cares about the shop anymore. He used to be a passionate and friendly guy. But that was back when he was still married… now he’s just as, if not more, depressing than Paul is. This town must be bad luck.

The ringing of a bell pulls him out of his thoughts. To Paul’s surprise, it’s Jim. Again. But that’s not a bad thing, no, it’s definitely not a bad thing. Paul has to admit, his company is nice. But why is he stopping by so often?

Jim beams at Paul. “Hey, I just wanted to stop by for a bit. You’re pretty much the only guy I know around here, and uh, I’m just kinda bored?”

His statement comes out more like a question, and Paul can see that there’s something on his mind.

“Oh, uh, that’s cool. Feel free to chill out here, it’s not like I’m busy or anything.” _What the hell am I doing? I told myself I wouldn’t get all buddy-buddy with this guy._

But the smile that paints itself on Jim’s face is convincing enough, and it does things to Paul’s heart that make him feel something weird. He shakes off the feeling.

Jim pulls up one of the stools and glances around the shop.

“So, how long have you been playing?”

Paul thinks for a minute. “Hm. I guess since around 14. I’ve just always loved music, and bass was just really fun to play. Too bad I never got to make a career out of it… you’re pretty lucky, you know. Being able to make music as a job and all.”

Jim nods in agreement. “Yeah, you’re right. But y’know… the main reason I stopped by was to see if you wanted to maybe jam with me? I’ve been looking for a bassist for my album… and sure, I could always record those parts by myself, but I figured it would be nice to have two guys working on it rather than just one.”

The request initially catches Paul off guard. He’s never heard the guy play, and quite frankly, he isn’t all that confident in his ability to record for an album. But then again… it sounds like a good opportunity. How could he possibly decline? Especially with the eager look Jim is giving him, and the way his hands are fidgeting with each other, awaiting Paul’s response.

“Yeah, fuck it. Sounds like it would be fun. When are you wanting to set this up?”

Jim grins. “I’m thinking this Friday, at my place. I already have everything set up- just come on over after your shift.”

Paul’s heart thuds. Him and Jim, alone on a Friday night. That shouldn’t give him the thoughts it does but his brain is already going into overdrive, thinking of all the different possible outcomes. 

“Oh, yeah, that sounds good. I’ll definitely be there!”

What. The. Everloving. Fuck. Is going on? 

Paul feels weird. He does not like this. He does not like the tingly feeling he gets when Jim is around and he does not like constantly having to prove his own goddamn sexuality to himself. He does not like how in the span of a week, Jim has somehow wormed his way into Paul’s life. Jim has done a lot of things to Paul, and does not realize it.

Paul leans back on his sofa, hands pressed to his forehead. Jim. That’s all he can think about. Jim, and his pretty eyes and his soothing voice, and his long legs and and his… everything. 

Well shit. Corey was right after all.

Now what?

Now he calls Corey. Because who else can he even talk to about this?

It rings 3 times.

“Paulie! What’s up?”

Paul takes a moment to collect his thoughts.

“I’m. Uh. You were right. At the bar, what you said to me. It um, it makes sense now.”

Silence. Paul bites his lip.

“Right about what? What did I say to you?”

Paul rolls his eyes. “Shut your mouth. You know damn well what I’m talking about.”

Corey laughs. “Ok, ok, fine. I just wanted to hear you say it. But you’re too stubborn. And anyway, I just knew this was coming. Ya can’t deny love, baby!”

Paul freezes. “What? No, no, no. This is not a love scenario. It can’t be. That’s dumb. But… I’m definitely into Jim. But not in a platonic way. I don’t even know. I don’t understand this.”

“Eh, you’ll figure it out. What made you come to this conclusion anyway? He ask you out or somethin’?”

Paul’s face heats up. “No, definitely not. But he invited me to come over on Friday to help him record some stuff, y’know… and he’s just been on my mind lately. Seems like a nice guy, and ‘m just… I find him attractive.”

“Ah, so he makes music? Didn’t you use to make music? This must be a match made in heaven! Paulie, you’re in l-o-v-e!” Corey giggles and spells out the last word in a taunting manner.

“Whatever, man. You’re such a child sometimes. I only called to let you know that you were right… I dunno about me being in love though. That’s scary to think about.”

Corey makes a sound as if he’s thinking, then comments, “Hey, look- this is a serious moment right here, got it? Here’s a word of advice from me: just let it be, man. You don’t gotta overthink this. And don’t try to ignore your feelings either, because I know damn well you’ve been doing that. Don’t worry about the future, or what may or may not happen. You just have to let things take their course. It’ll all work out from there.”

Paul scoffs. “Easier said than done, man. But… thanks. I’ll remember that.”


	3. Give Me Hope

So, Friday.

Hoooo boy.

Needless to say, Paul is nervous. But nervous is a bit of an understatement. If this were to happen about a week ago, Paul would have easily been able to brush it off as social anxiety. Just the normal stuff, ya know?

But now? Well, now he’s not so sure of that. Not with this criminally attractive man inviting him over on a Friday night, who makes his heart pound and face flush whenever he happens to be around.

Though, Paul is still hesitant to embrace these newfound feelings, even after “talking things out” with Corey (which, in all honesty, felt more like Corey just poking fun at him while Paul just sat there and dealt with it). The phone call didn’t quite clear anything up for him, but that was to be expected.

And even though all of this happened on Monday, and it’s been 4 days since then, Paul hasn’t been able to shoo off the butterflies in his stomach like he’s usually able to do. There’s been no more shrugging things off, or ignoring feelings until they go away. Jim has somehow made both of those actions frustratingly impossible.

But what bothers him the most is the fact that Jim has so easily been able to break down Paul’s walls. He’s like some sort of psychological wizard, without even trying.

Throughout this week, Jim has been coming by the shop to hang out, at first for only about 15 minutes and now for up to an hour, just talking and talking, seemingly so optimistic and outgoing and literally everything that Paul isn’t. And he always manages to wrap Paul up into the conversation, because something about him is just so interesting and somehow, for some reason, Paul doesn’t ever really want the conversation to end. But Paul doesn’t mind all this.

No, surprisingly, Paul does not mind. He doesn’t mind Jim’s rambling, whether it be about a new guitar or a book he just read or anything, really. In fact, Paul has grown to enjoy it. But not just because Jim is totally eye candy- it also has to do with the fact that Paul hadn’t really realized how lonely he’d been, and Jim has been turning that around. He’s been turning that around, like, insanely fast.

So now, on this warm Friday evening, about an hour before Paul’s shift is over, his nervousness is only doubling down. Because any minute from now, Jim’s cherry red truck will be pulling up to the record shop, and he’ll walk through the front door with such a soft yet eager smile on his face, as if he’s seeing an old pal for the first time in months. Which, in all honesty, does seem to feel like the case sometimes. Paul isn’t sure he’s ever met someone he’s gotten along with so well, but that thought makes him feel queasy. Because he could so easily fuck things up, or fall for Jim too hard and end up worse than he was before he ever met him, and that would really suck.

He hates feeling so hopeful yet so fearful at the same time.

But before he gets the chance to think on that too much, a familiar face waltzes up to the counter.

“Ah, Jim, I didn’t see you come in, man.”

Jim grins and leans across the counter, taking up an unnecessary amount of space with his long torso. He seems chirpier than usual.

“Are you excited to record? I think it’ll be really fun, and we can jam out n’ stuff. Just mess around, ya know?”

Excited? Not quite. Nervous as shit as well as anxious and full of some other feeling that Paul still can’t really bring himself to admit? Yeah, that. But it’s easier to just say yeah, I’m excited man.

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about you all week.”

Paul’s breath catches in his throat the moment he shuts his mouth. _Well. That’s not what I told myself to say._

He clears his throat. “Uh, as in like, I’ve been thinking about our plans all week, y’know? I’ve just- I haven’t been doing much lately, so it’s been on my mind. So. Yes, I’m excited.”

Paul mentally facepalms. _Smooth save, dumbass._

For a split second Jim flashes a quizzical expression, eyebrows slightly narrowed, but then his face softens and his eyes seem to visibly light up, and Paul relaxes a bit and quietly sighs in relief.

Jim brings his hand up to run his fingers through his hair, a frequent habit that Paul has noticed him do often.

“No worries man, I get that. Doesn’t seem like there’s ever much going on around here. Oh but dude, I gotta tell you about this thing I saw happen across the street on the way here…”

And there he goes. Paul wonders how Jim is always able to have something new to say, or some crazy story to tell. He must have an interesting life. _He must not be a boring, helpless druggie like you._

As Jim rambles on, Paul can physically feel his tension easing up. His heart doesn’t pound quite as hard, and the room doesn’t feel quite so hot. He takes a moment to just admire Jim- his confidence, his buttery voice, his well groomed hair and striking green eyes. Paul feels like a sack of dirt when compared to him.

Jim is still talking, now going on about astrology and how he’s a libra or something like that, and Paul just listens, noticing the way Jim always seems so focused on what he’s saying yet seems to get off track so easily.

So for an hour they just kinda sit there, conversing about this and that. About life, and music, and just random stuff, and Paul cracks a few jokes here and there because even though he’s not much of a jokester, he likes the way Jim’s face lights up when he laughs. And just his laugh in general. 

Paul falls into somewhat of a trance with Jim around. Not purposefully. It just happens. Kind of like that feeling you get when having a really deep conversation with someone you’re into, which is pretty much what Paul is experiencing but. Y’know. He still hasn’t fully admitted that to himself.

Jim shifts and checks his watch. “Well… I’m about ready to ditch this place. You gonna close up soon?”

Paul blinks. _But it’s only…?_

Oh, yeah, it’s already 5. Time flies fast when you’re talking to a pretty guy.

“Yeah, sure. Just give me a few minutes to close up. Uh, you can wait in the parking lot.”

Jim nods an “alright” and walks off. Paul could have let him stay while he closed the shop, but he enjoys watching Jim leave a bit more than he likes to admit. He doesn’t really have all that much to do, other than shut off the lights and make sure no one’s still inside (highly unlikely, but still mandatory to check). 

Paul flips the open sign over as he exits the shop. Jim is standing idly, phone in hand, hip resting against his truck. He grins up at Paul.

“So do you just wanna come straight to my place? I already have everything set up…”

Paul’s stomach does flips. “Yeah, that sounds good! I already have my bass in my car, so I’m ready when you are.”

It’s a cozy little place. Very humble. Lots of wooden furniture, with a nice leather sofa in the living room. Jim leads Paul through the house, rambling about how much he hates unpacking and how he still has so much to do.

They end up in a room next to Jim’s bedroom. His guitar lays propped up against an amp, and Paul can’t help but admire the instrument. It’s such a clean shade of white, with a black pickguard. Simple, but so elegant. 

Jim notices Paul staring and smirks, a bit of pride lacing his tone. “Yeah, she’s real pretty, huh? Had her custom made; thin neck, ebony fingerboard, mahogany body… all the good stuff, ya know?”

The taller man picks up the guitar and hands to Paul. “Here, try it out, I want to get a feel for your bass.”

_Oh. God, ok, he’s handing me his guitar. Jim is giving me his guitar. So I can play it. Ok, no big deal? No big deal._

Paul offers Jim his bass and takes the jazzmaster in return, trying to adjust to the new feeling. It’s a lot… lighter than his bass. But it feels like something Jim would play. It feels nice, easy to maneuver, kinda gentle? If you can even describe a guitar as gentle? He glances up at Jim, who’s settling himself in a chair and plugging in Paul’s bass and wow, he looks nice with that in his hands. Really nice. Nicer than he should. And Paul can’t really bring himself to look away.

Jim’s long fingers graze across the strings, graceful and skilled. Light brown locks fall to frame his face, and Paul doesn’t quite notice when Jim stops playing until he speaks up, his voice pulling Pail back down to earth.

“Uh, feel free to make yourself comfortable.”

He gestures to a chair identical to his, right next to him. “Cool bass, by the way. I like the sound.”

Paul can’t quite help the blush that rises to his face, the compliment rushing straight to his heart. And when Jim smiles up at him, he swears he would have fainted on the spot, had he not sat down in the cushioned chair.

“Heh, thanks. It’s my personal favorite. You uh… you play it well.”

This time Jim flushes red. He shifts in his seat and hides himself behind his hair, suddenly shy. “Ah, thanks. I don’t have all that much experience with bass, so that actually means a lot…”

Paul smiles. _That is… oddly wholesome._

The air is still for a minute, thick with some sort of tension. Green eyes meet brown ones, anxious meets awkward. And Paul longs to dive himself deeper into those perfect emeralds, to just lean in a little closer and really get a good look, to just maybe feel Jim’s breath, soft and warm, hoping that Jim possibly feels the same, that he just maybe wants him too. His lips, Paul wants them on his own. Just for a second… just to know what it’s like. To know what Jim feels like.

But Jim leans back in his seat as Paul leans forward, reaching for a pick on his desk. And Paul has to physically stop himself from wincing, because even though it wasn’t, it felt like rejection. A slap in the face.

Paul’s stomach churns with embarrassment. _What the hell was I thinking?_

Though Jim doesn’t seem all that phased. No, in fact, he seems entirely oblivious to the whole situation. And Paul isn’t sure whether to be thankful or just disappointed with that. But then Jim is handing Paul his bass back, so Paul gives Jim his guitar back, and Jim is humming a tune to himself while he pulls up some audio files on his computer. Just totally not even acknowledging the nearly year-long intimate eye contact the two just made. But that’s fine.

Jim scoots his chair back around to face Paul. “Alright, you ready to record?”

The session has been going admittedly better than Paul thought it would. After the initial 30 minutes of getting everything set up, both of them seemed to relax a bit and chat like normal. Like friends. And Paul was genuinely impressed when Jim played his tracks; he’s insanely talented, and it almost makes Paul jealous. But there’s really no reason for him to feel that way. It’s not like he ever did anything special with music. 

“And with that,” Jim exclaims after clicking around on the computer, “we’re finished with the first track!”

Paul whoops and highfives Jim, both of them beaming with accomplishment. “Didn’t take as long as I thought it would, honestly. How many more tracks are on the album?”

“Around, like, 8. So you’re gonna be here for at least two hours…”

Jim’s words sound apologetic, but his face seems to say otherwise. He looks a little eager- just a little- but Paul’s sure his brain is only making that up.

He shrugs. “Hey man, I don’t mind. It’s not like I’m doing anything later.”

Jim nods understandingly. “So… want some beer? I dunno if you drink much or anything, but I figured we could have a good time while we work, y’know?”

Hm. 

Well…

If there’s one thing Paul knows for certain, it’s that getting drunk is one of his worst weaknesses. Because he doesn’t really think much before he speaks. And things come out. Things that really don’t need to come out, just, come out. 

So of course Paul says sure, yeah, I could use a beer. Because he doesn’t feel like worrying about shit like that. Fuck it, you know? He’s here to have a good time.

Well, not really. He’s here to record for Jim’s album. But same thing, right? Drinking would definitely ease his nerves. 

Jim lumbers out of the room to grab a few drinks, leaving Paul by himself. And Paul doesn’t ever really consider himself a nosy person, but some fucked up part of his brain says hey, you should snoop around Jim’s bedroom.

_What? No. That’s rude, and creepy. I’m not weird like that._

Not to mention he’d be mortified if Jim caught him doing something so intrusive.

But… 

From where he’s sitting he can clearly see the door to his bedroom. Slightly cracked open. Inviting. 

Maybe if he just… really quickly… took a peek… without even entering the room.

Just to see what it looks like… 

The rational side of him is screaming not to, that it’s morally wrong and that Jim could be back any minute, but the rest of him just. Can’t resist the urge to snoop. Fuck morals, amirite?

No, that’s not right. It’s not right that Paul is shifting in his seat, propping his bass up and slowly making his way towards the room, peeking his head around the corner to make sure Jim isn’t on his way back. It’s not right that he’s quietly, so quietly, nudging the door open with his foot, glancing inside the room out of pure curiosity… 

It’s dark. The lights are off. Paul isn’t sure what he was expecting, honestly. It’s just… normal. His eyes can make out a king size bed, and a dresser, and a nightstand. The nightstand. What’s on the…?

Oh boy.

He wasn’t meant to see that.

Paul immediately retreats, pulling the door behind him back to its original state, rushing to his chair and pretending to play around on his bass. Just. Trying not to think about what he just did. And what his eyes just absorbed. 

Maybe it’s not what he thinks it is. I could just be, like, some kind of lamp? Or just like, a decoration of some sort. The lighting was dim, he might have mistaken the object. But Paul can’t help the slowly rising heat from his chest up, ashamed and embarrassed with what he just did.

And the implications… 

_Who the hell leaves something like that just laying around, anyway? Out in the open, for all to see?_

But it wasn’t really out in the open. Paul only happened to find it, out of shameless curiosity.

Jim pads back to the bedroom, a few beers in each arm. Paul attempts to regain his composure.

“Hey, sorry that took so long. Had to use the bathroom.”

Paul clears his throat.

“I-it’s all good, no worries, I’ve just been. Sitting here. Practicing.”

Is it hot in here?

He downs half of his beer the moment Jim offers it. The other man laughs, somewhat surprised but mainly amused. 

It’s been three hours. Recording had finished a while ago, but Jim insisted that Paul stay a while. Neither of the two drank too much, but they both started talking and eventually found themselves opening up, a lot more than Paul would have usually been comfortable with. But it’s kinda different with Jim. It doesn’t feel so scary with him.

“So, Paul… tell me about yourself.”

Paul makes a face at the sudden demand. “Whaddya mean? I thought I’ve told you plenty already.”

Jim shrugs. “I mean, yeah, but. You’ve never told me much about your childhood or anything. Or what high school was like for you.”

Paul scoffs. “Sucked. I never did much with my childhood. My parents were kinda like, assholes.”

He glances over at Jim, who’s listening intently, with a sympathetic look on his face.

“And uh, high school? I dunno. I had a band with two of my friends. It was really fun while it lasted… I’m not really sure why I left them.” He pauses, sighing. “It’s my fault though. They tried to keep me with them, but I just… I just. I couldn’t.”

He purposefully keeps it vague, as best as he can. The real reason he left the band was because of his drug addiction. But Jim doesn’t need to know that. Jim shouldn’t know that. 

Jim doesn’t really say anything, as if he’s unsure or worried he might upset Paul. 

Paul can’t stand the silence. 

“What about you? What was your life like, before you moved here?”

The other man thinks a bit before responding. “Well… it wasn’t bad. Just normal, I guess. I’m an only child, no siblings or anything. My parents were always really busy, never seemed to have time for me. It was kind of lonely, honestly. I mainly kept to myself in school, never really bonded with anyone.”

He then gives Paul a small smile. “But I got to meet you. And I’m glad I did.”

Paul’s heart flutters. 

There’s silence again. But it’s comfortable. 

He turns his head to look out the window. It’s late, and he really should go soon. But he doesn’t want to. He likes this… a lot. This connection. Paul hasn’t felt something like this, ever. Hasn’t felt so understood and wanted. As if his presence was truly enjoyed.

Jim sips his beer. “Y’know… I really appreciate you coming over to do this.”

The voice pulls Paul out of his thoughts. “And I appreciate you having me stay over for so long. I… didn’t realize how much I needed a night like this. Even if we were just recording, and drinking… I just feel…”

Jim looks at him expectantly.

“It feels good. Feels like a real, genuine connection.”

His heart is pounding for some reason. Jim slowly nods his head in agreement, as if carefully thinking over his words. 

“Right… yeah. A connection.”

His voice sounds off. Like he’s holding something back.

“Paul…”

Jim shakes his head. Bites his tongue. “No, nevermind, I’m sorry. It’s getting late. I’m just thinking weird.”

He blinks and glances to the side. “I uh… sometimes I get emotional. When I drink.”

Paul nods his head, but still feels like something is wrong. “Are you sure that’s it?” Then, testing the water, he adds, “Is something on your mind?”

He’s nervous. He’s never seen Jim so vulnerable. And for some reason, it makes him feel vulnerable, too.

Jim shakes his head for the second time. “I can’t really explain it.” He pauses, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know if I should explain it.”

The room grows quiet. Paul doesn’t want to pressure Jim into saying something he’ll regret later. He knows how that feels. 

“Maybe… I can help you with that.”

Jim’s eyes widen. “No, no, Paul, I don’t think you’d understand…”

Paul wants to understand. He hopes he understands. “I think I might.”

He then pauses, unsure of whether to do what he’s contemplating or not. “Sorry if I’m wrong, though…”

Without giving Jim time to process, and with a boost of confidence from the alcohol, Paul cups his hand around Jim’s cheek. He lets the moment linger, for just a second, before leaning in.

Soft, so soft. And gentle. His lips are sweet and taste like his drink-- bubbly, yet bold. Jim is a lot of things. And a good kisser is one of them, apparently. 

Jim smiles into Paul’s lips, mutters something about how long he’d been wanting to do this, and Paul stays quiet, as if speaking would break the trance. Suddenly he feels the other man leaning into him, closer, closer, climbing onto Paul’s chair. His slender fingers run through Paul’s short hair and he shifts onto his lap, pulling back for only a moment and then diving back in. 

It feels right. It feels so right, so meant to be, so perfect and before Paul can stop himself, warm tears are pooling in his eyes. Because he needed this, so bad. Needed to feel wanted and loved, and just appreciated. And he does cry, only a little, and Jim squeezes his shoulders to let him know that hey, I’m here, you can let it out. Let out everything you’ve been holding back.

And Paul does. Jim embraces him, tightly, head on his shoulder, arms secure, and he cries too. Because they’re in this together, they’re in this small town with only each other, and they both just needed that someone. That someone to pull them out of their ruts, to make life a little less miserable.

They stay like that, in warm embrace, for longer than Paul can remember. Jim finally pulls back, staring into Paul’s eyes. Into his soul. 

“D’you… d’you want to stay for the night? We don’t have to do anything, I just… I need the company.”

Paul smiles. His brain feels a little behind, still trying to catch up with everything that just happened. But he knows he’s happy. “Yeah, that’d be nice. Really nice.”

Jim climbs off of Paul, grabbing his hand and leading him towards his bedroom. Paul freezes on the spot. “O-oh, wait, you meant, sleep together? Like in your bed?”

Jim pauses and blinks. “Well, yeah. Unless you want to sleep on the sofa?”

Paul shakes his head. “Hell no. Sofa nights are the worst nights.”

The taller man chuckles. “Then come on…”

The room is a lot darker now with the sun fully set, and gentle moonlight filters through the window (the one that still doesn’t have any curtains…). Jim quickly makes his way to his nightstand to shove _something_ into a drawer, then flops onto the bed and pats the spot next to him.

Paul laughs. “Dude, you’re like a kid having a sleepover.”

“This _is_ a sleepover, in a way,” he corrects, matter-of-factly.

Paul only rolls his eyes and kicks off his shoes, climbing onto the bed to lay next to Jim. The other man begins slipping out of his jeans, and any other day Paul’s brain would have instantly short circuited, but… he’s just too tired. Too drained to be in the mood. And he can only assume Jim feels the same, given he doesn’t seem to have any ulterior motives other than sleeping. So Paul strips as well, down to just his boxers.

He wraps an arm around Jim, pulling him close. Jim relaxes into the touch, back pressed against Paul’s chest.

“Hey, thanks again, Paul. I really do appreciate you coming over. I can’t say I quite expected it to turn out like this, though…” he says with a slight chuckle. 

“Me neither. But… I’m glad it did.” Paul buries his face into the crook of Jim’s neck, inhaling the scent of cologne and shampoo.

After a minute of just them breathing, calm and sleepy and satisfied, Jim pipes up.

“Let’s go out for some coffee tomorrow, yeah?”

Paul grins. “… yeah, let’s do that.”


	4. Give You Up

Paul wakes up with a new feeling in his chest. And also on his chest, for that matter. A warm body presses into him, peaceful and undisturbed. 

This is nice. This is right. This how things were meant to be, this is the only way things can be. Here, with Jim, in his bed and holding him in his arms. Comforting. Caring. 

Loving?

He’s not sure yet. Things all seemed to happen so fast, Paul can still barely wrap his brain around last night. They went from acquainted, to… this. What even is this? Are they even “together”? They’re certainly not lovers. 

Friends with benefits?

No, Paul doesn’t like the sound of that. They didn’t even have sex, they just… slept. But it was the best night Paul had experienced in a while. He wasn’t lonely, for once. He felt whole. He still feels whole. He just has a lot of questions. 

But he doesn’t feel like stressing about it right now. Doesn’t want to ruin the moment. Gentle sunlight drifts through the window and the covers lay heavy on him, as if begging Paul to stay. To fall back asleep. He watches as Jim’s chest rises and falls, so far away in slumber, yet physically so close to him.

Jim stirs a bit, grabbing onto Paul’s strong arm. Pushing himself impossibly closer to him. He mumbles a _good morning_ without rolling over.

“G’morning. How’d… how did you sleep?”

Jim shifts onto his back, gazing up at Paul with sleepy eyes. Paul’s heart skips a beat, he looks so soft, so pretty. 

“Amazingly.”

Paul chuckles. “Good to hear. Same for me.”

It all feels so magical. Jim smiles, a little lopsided and goofy and his voice is groggy but he’s beautiful anyway. “So, about that coffee I mentioned last night… Are you still down?”

Oh, right, they had made plans. Well, kinda. It was briefly brought up, but not really “planned”. And as much as Paul would like to lay in bed all day, it would probably be best to get out of the house and actually do something. “Oh yeah, definitely. It would also give us a chance to, like, talk things out, I guess.”

Jim nods agreeingly. “Right, right… that would be a good idea.” His hand slides down to squeeze Paul’s thigh, a comforting gesture. “Guess we should get ready, then. I’ll throw your clothes in the wash, and I’ll run you a shower in the guest bedroom,” he offers, sitting up against the bed frame. 

Paul sits up with him. “Oh, thanks, yeah that’d be nice. I’ll try not to take too long in there.”

Now with hot water rushing against his skin, slick and smooth and refreshing, Paul manages to collect himself. Collect his thoughts, attempt to make sense of everything. _Barely_ manages to. And all he’s really figured out is that whatever this thing is with Jim, he doesn’t want to ruin it. Doesn’t want it to end. 

Which is harder than it seems. Commitment has always been a sticky subject for Paul. It’s just difficult, when he’s so scared of opening himself up completely to another person, yet also so terrified of being abandoned. 

After quickly showering, Paul wraps a towel around his waist, reaching for an unused toothbrush that Jim had offered him earlier. He eyes himself in the mirror, analyzing, suddenly self conscious about his appearance. Should he have shaved? Does Jim find stubble unattractive? Are his eye bags too noticeable? When was the last time he got his hair trimmed?

A knock on the door jolts him out of his thoughts and Paul reaches over with one hand to unlock it, his other hand occupied with the toothbrush currently jammed in his mouth. Jim cautiously opens the bathroom door, not wanting to have an accidental flash situation on his hands, while holding out Paul’s shirt, jeans, and boxers. Although seeing Paul naked definitely wouldn’t have been anything to complain about.

“Hey, here’s your clothes. Just let me know when you’re ready to head out.”

Paul just nods and grabs his stuff, not really able to speak with a mouth full of toothpaste. The door shuts again and Paul spits, rinsing his mouth out with a cup of water. He can feel his nerves creeping up again-- not quite as bad as yesterday, but still enough to be noticeable. _This… doesn’t count as a first date, does it?_ He’s never been with a guy before. Paul isn’t sure what to expect. He dries his hair as best as he can with the towel around his waist and slips into his clean clothes. 

Huh. They smell like Jim’s detergent. Which really shouldn’t have caught Paul off guard, but it did anyway. It smells a bit like… vanilla. And something flowery. Which in all honesty doesn’t quite suit Jim’s rough and manly appearance, but after getting to know the man after the past two weeks, it makes perfect sense to Paul. He’s soft, and sweet, like a gentle giant.

Paul lumbers into the kitchen where Jim is standing idle, leaned up against the counter. He breaks into a shy grin at the sight of Paul. “So, I’ll drive? I mean, it’s the least I can do… wouldn’t want to make my guest have to drive me around.”

Paul raises his eyebrows, almost incredulously. “What, you already know your way around here?”

Jim shrugs. “I mean, there’s only like, maybe one coffee place in this town? It’s not that hard to find,” he replies with a slight chuckle.

That’s true. There’s really only like, one of anything in this place. One grocery store, one motel, one bar… kinda sad. But you really can’t expect much else from a small town in the middle of Nowhereville, in Iowa. Which Paul is pretty much convinced is a state that doesn’t even exist to the rest of the world. It’s just _there_. Kinda like a black hole. You get sucked in and never really leave. No one knows what happens to people who live in Iowa, it’s a fucking mystery. You move to Iowa and you suddenly disappear off the face of the earth, just kinda floating around in literal nothingness, doing jack shit. That’s what it feels like, at least.

Paul smiles. “Then you’ve pretty much got this place all figured out. Let’s hit the road, yeah?”

The car ride is quiet. Not tense, or awkward, or anything like that, just quiet. Not really sure what to say, or what to do. _Is reaching over to grab Jim’s hand too forward? Too soon?_ Jim glances over at Paul.

“Could you hand me that CD on your side?”

Ah, music. That sounds great right now. Paul searches around his seat, and bingo, there’s a Metallica record sticking out from the dashboard. He hands it to Jim and watches him slide it into the CD player.

“Hey, isn’t that the one you bought at the record shop?”

Jim hums. “Yup, haven’t had a chance to really sit down and listen to it, though. Was actually planning on playing it last night while you were over, but…”

He seems to have trouble coming up with the right way to word things, so Paul does it for him. “But things didn’t go quite as planned?”

Paul can see the faintest blush on Jim’s cheeks. “Yeah, haha, I guess you could put it that way.”

The car falls quiet again, now with music playing lowly in the background. Paul looks out the car window, watching the world pass by in a blur. It’s almost afternoon, sun bright and resting high in the sky. The road is fairly empty and all that’s really around them is trees and a few run-down shops. But it’s nice. It feels like home. It _is_ home. Paul turns his head to watch the road in front of him, catching Jim’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Jim quickly glances away, focusing himself back on the wheel.

“... Paul?”

For some reason, the tone of Jim’s voice makes his heart stop for a split second. He sounds uneasy. “Hm?” 

Jim keeps his eyes on the road. His hands tighten a bit on the wheel, unsure and anxious. It makes Paul feel queasy. “Maybe it’s too soon to ask something like this, but…” He pauses, brows furrowing slightly. “What… what is this, to you?”

The question catches Paul by surprise. Before he can answer, Jim continues, “I mean I know we like, kissed last night. And we, well, kinda slept together, and now we’re going out for coffee. And I just-- I just want to know, how you feel about everything.” He reaches over to grab Paul’s hand. “And how you’d feel about… this.”

Paul’s heart thuds. It’s… certainly a lot to take in. “Honestly? I don’t know how I feel about everything.” He can almost physically feel the heartbreak in Jim. The other man begins to loosen his grip on Paul, and no, that’s not what he meant, _shit take it back, fuck_ \--

“No no, Jim,” Paul blurts out, pulling Jim’s hand back to where it was originally resting. “What I meant to say was, I don’t really know how all this happened. Like, my attraction to you… it was all so sudden, out of nowhere, I didn’t know what to make of it. But, trust me, I like this. I like _you_. And I don’t know how any of this is going to work out, but I just want it to. I do, I swear I do.”

His heart is still thudding, even more so than it was a few seconds ago. He could have… really fucked everything up right then. Jim visibly relaxes, his face a little less distraught. “Thank god… Paul,” he lets out a nervous laugh. “Paul, I’m not going to lie, you scared the shit out of me for a second. But I’m glad you feel this way.” Green eyes meet him once again, this time not so timid, and a little more warm. “I feel the same. I have… for a while.”

Paul smirks, intertwining his fingers with Jim’s. “Oh yeah? How long is a while?”

Jim only laughs again, squeezing Paul’s hand. “I’ll tell you that later.”

Such a cliche. Going out on a coffee date in the early afternoon, sitting in a booth, chit chatting, flirting, holding hands. Paul kinda hates cliches. But this one isn’t so bad. Because it’s with Jim, and Jim makes a lot of things better.

Jim sips on his coffee, a devious look in his eyes. “So… about what you said in the car, asking about when I began liking you…”

Paul can’t help rolling his eyes. The way Jim words it makes it sound like a middle school crush, where kids are always using the words “like” and “like-like.”

Jim ignores the expression and continues on, “You tell me first.”

“Oh my god, Jim you’re such a child--”

“Nope! I won’t tell you until you tell me.”

Paul internally sighs. _I am literally dealing with a 10 year old right now_. 

But he can’t deny the small smile tugging at his lips. “Alright, alright, fine… fine.” Jim, both hands on his mug, leans forward expectantly, eyes playful. It’s definitely a side of him that Paul hasn’t seen much, and one that he wouldn’t mind seeing more often.

But then Paul stops to think, when _did_ he start “liking” Jim? It wasn’t the first time he met him, so it had to be the second time they talked, right? But… no, he was already kinda into him at that point… wait a second. It was the night he saw… the window… Jim… the…

“Wait, this is kind of embarrassing. I don’t know if I can tell you that.” I mean, it’s not like Paul would just flat out lie and pretend that never happened… but he really doesn’t want to tell Jim that story. He feels like a creep just remembering it.

Jim groans. “Oh, come on, it really can’t be that bad--”

Paul shakes his head. “Sorry man, can’t tell you.” 

“But now I’m really curious--”

“Not happening.” Paul smiles at Jim’s visible defeat, only feeling a little guilty, but humored by his childish antics. 

“Ok fine, I’ll tell you first!”

Hm. Well, that catches Paul’s attention. Because no matter how much he pretends not to be, he _is_ wondering about when Jim became interested in him. “Go on…”

Jim breaks out into a smile. “Ok, so… honestly, the first time I saw you, I thought you were super cute. But I wasn’t _fully_ into you yet. It was the second time I saw you, when I had stopped by your work and helped you tune the guitars.” He pauses to take a sip of his coffee, eyes full of fondness. “I dunno, there was just something about seeing you with a bass in your hands that I really liked, and you just seemed so… mysterious?”

Paul snorts at the word. “What, me? Mysterious? No, I’m just boring, man.”

“Not true! If you were boring, I wouldn’t enjoy talking to you this much,” Jim counters, furrowing his brows at the other man’s pessimism. 

Paul shrugs, looking down at his drink to add some sugar. “Well, I guess that’s true.”

He keeps his response short, fully aware of the green eyes laser-focused on him. Jim’s still expecting Paul to hold up his part of the deal. “Alright then, my turn.” He keeps his gaze down at his mug. “Pretty much, it was like a slow realization, in a way. I’ve, um. Never liked a guy before.” He clears his throat. “And so eventually I had to admit to myself that I was really into you, and uh, yeah. Now we’re here.”

Paul looks back up to meet Jim’s eyes. They’re wide, full of surprise. “Wait, so like, I’m your first guy-crush?”

Paul nods slowly, refraining from nagging Jim about his choice of word. “I think so? I’ve probably liked other guys in the past, but never really realized it. And I’ve never really been all that into girls, so… I dunno, it’s weird. I just know I like you.”

The other man chuckles. “Well, I certainly feel special!”

Paul only feels relieved that he didn’t quite give him the full story. The conversation falls quiet for a minute, both men opting to drink their coffees. The cafe isn’t very busy, with maybe three other people scattered about in booths. Paul wonders where their waiter is. They’ve only ordered drinks so far, which is really all Paul had needed, but Jim had insisted on having breakfast as well.

And just like that, their waiter arrives to check up on the pair. He greets them with an energetic smile, pulling out a pen and pad. “Alright, what can I get for you two?”

The man has red dyed hair and large blue eyes, tattoos covering both of his arms. The nametag clipped onto his shirt reads “Sidney.” 

Jim smiles politely and orders a plate of french toast, while Paul asks for a stack of pancakes. After jotting down their orders and picking up their menus, he skips off to the kitchen. Jim watches as he leaves, eyes narrowing.

“Feel like I’ve seen him before. As in like, on social media or something. Think he makes music.”

Paul shrugs. “I wouldn’t know, I’m never really online.”

Jim nods his head. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot, you’re not constantly glued to your phone, like I am,” he adds playfully. 

The next few minutes consist of small talk, waiting for their orders to come. A large, burly man walks through the door, and Paul really doesn’t think much of it. Except Paul’s convinced he’s seen his face before, _somewhere_. Maybe it’s the hair? Jim didn’t seem to notice him, so Paul doesn’t bother bringing it up.  
Their food comes surprisingly fast, and it smells _fucking amazing_ and Paul’s glad he decided to order something other than coffee, because he hasn’t had a decent homecooked meal in what feels like months, which it probably actually has been. But Jim seems a little quiet, which is odd since he’s usually talking Paul’s ear off. It’s almost like he’s hiding behind his hair, barely even touching his food.

“Hey, Jim? You good?”

Jim casts a quick glance to the side, so quick that Paul couldn’t even register what he looked at. Jim then smiles and shakes his head nonchalantly. “Yeah, I’m good, just a little tired, y’know?”

_Right. Sure._

Not seeing a point in pressing the man, Paul shrugs it off and takes a bite of his pancakes. He looks off to the side, noticing the same guy from earlier standing in line at the register, seemingly ordering something for the road. The man turns around for a moment and catches Paul’s eye, and that’s when it clicks. 

“Oh, Jim, isn’t that the guy who helped you move?”

Jim’s face pales, but he quickly shakes his head no. “Nah, no, probably not, I mean I dunno, I don’t really remember—“

Paul casts a look back at the long haired man and he’s now staring Jim down, a look of familiarity on his face. What happens next surprises Paul, as he leaves the line to approach the pair sitting in the booth. And Paul doesn’t like admitting it, but that guy’s fairly intimidating up close. 

Jim visibly squirms in his seat, almost looking nauseated. Eyes fixed on his food as if it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. 

The man, now barely an inch away from their booth, gives Jim a warm smile. Something about him rubs Paul the wrong way. 

He speaks up, voice low and gravelly. “Hello, Peach. Wasn’t expecting to run into you here.”

_Peach?_

Jim slowly raises his gaze to meet the man’s eyes. Brows lowered, eyes harsh. Despite the look on his face, his voice comes out weak and small. “Don’t call me that. What the hell are you doing here, anyway?”

Ignoring his question, the man directs his gaze to Paul. “And who’s this? You got a new boyfriend? A new fucktoy?”

Paul’s can feel the anger rising in his chest at the title. Jim’s face is red and his fists are clenched, but he doesn’t say anything.

The man continues on, a nasty grin on his face. “He is, isn’t he?” He turns his head towards Paul, and it takes every ounce in him to not punch the asshole square in his face. The man leans on the table, now eye level with Paul.

“Watch yourself with this one. Hate to break it to you, but he’s probably just using you for sex.” 

That’s when he snaps— not Paul, but Jim. It all happens so fast, Jim lunging across the table and tackling the man, throwing wild punches at his face and chest, screaming profanities at him. Paul watches in a stunned silence, not sure how to react or whether he should intervene, because to be honest, he’s too scared to get between the two large men.

“ _God, fuck you Mick!_ ”

A sharp blow to his nose. The sickening crack makes Paul cringe.

“ _I never wanted you back in my life!_ ”

Another punch, connecting hard on his jaw. 

“ _You fucking ruin everything!_ ”

Before he can land another hit, their waiter from earlier dives in between the two, shouting at both of them. Finally with the situation a little more in control, Paul jumps up to restrain Jim, who’s still seeing red and burning with rage. Fuming, Sidney turns to look at both Jim and Mick.

“What the hell is going on here?”

The cafe grows silent. People in booths turn to stare. Neither Mick nor Jim utter a word.

Paul assumes he has to be the one to speak up. “I-I’m not sure what happened. This guy showed up and started saying shit, like he was trying to provoke us. I don’t even know him—“

“I do.”

Jim glares at the man, whose nose is bloodied and jaw bruised. “Yeah, I fucking know him. Why are you here, Mick? Trying to weasel your way back into my life?”

Mick sneers. “As if. You just happened to be here the same time as me, and I couldn’t just walk away without giving your little friend here a heads up. Let’s be real, James— you’re a slut. Always have been, always will be.”

Paul feels Jim tense in his arms. He holds him tighter, an effort to prevent things from getting any more out of hand.

Mick laughs. “I’m not scared of you, Peach. You can hit me all you want, but you can’t punch away the memories we made. Especially just last week… surely you remember, don’t you? Or were you too drunk?”

_Wait, what?_

“Shut the fuck up Mick, that was your fucking fault—“

“You’re the one who asked for my help. You’re the one who invited me in for a drink, you’re the one—“

Clearly having enough, the waiter steps between the two bickering men. “Enough! All three of you, get the hell out!”

The ride home is tense. Mick had driven off in his moving truck without saying a single thing to either Paul or Jim. Paul had offered to drive, given Jim was clearly not in a good state to be behind the wheel. Jim hadn’t said anything to Paul other than, “I’m sorry you had to see that.” 

His mind is racing, so many questions had popped up earlier that Jim had never answered. But that’s because Paul can’t bring himself to ask any of them. Obviously Mick was an ex, he knows that for sure. And he’s a mover, who helped Jim unpack. And… they've obviously been together as of lately. 

_But why the hell would Jim ask his ex to help him with his moving? Especially when he’s that shitty of a guy?_

He can feel Jim’s eyes on him as he watches the road in front of him. 

“I guess… I should explain some of this to you, huh?”

Paul nods his head slowly. “Yeah, uh, that’d be nice.”

Jim sighs. “That guy, Mick. He’s my ex. We used to work together, as movers. And when I broke up with him, obviously he wasn’t happy, and we left things on a bad note.”

Ok, well. That doesn’t really answer much. But it’s definitely a start. Paul speaks up, trying to keep the pang of jealousy out of his voice. “Why was he at your house last week?”

Jim cringes. “I… was hoping you didn’t see that, to be honest.”

Paul feels something twisting deep in his gut. Fearing what’s to come. He knows where this is going, and he hates it. 

“He said he wanted to see me. He said he missed me,” his voice falters a bit. “And he said he’d help me for free, if I let him… spend the night.”

Paul resists the urge to slam on the breaks. He almost feels betrayed, which he knows is irrational because they weren’t even anything romantic at the time of these events, but _still_. Knowing that Jim slept with his ex just a week ago, in the house right next to his own. Mick had slept in Jim’s bed, the same one Paul was just in last night. 

Mick had called Jim a slut. What if he was right? What if he’s really just using Paul for his own satisfaction?

“Paul, I’m sorry, I know it’s a lot to take in, but he offered me drinks and I got too drunk and- and stuff just _happened_ , I wasn’t planning on things to go the way they did.”

Paul can’t help but feel hurt. And he hates the fact that he does. He’s gone and let himself fall too hard for Jim, and now he’s suffering the consequences. The consequences of feeling too much too soon, growing too attached before giving himself time to sort out his feelings. 

Paul can’t keep the coldness out of his voice. “Hey, look, it’s fine. We don’t gotta talk about it.”

Since that day, Paul hasn’t been able to bring himself to speak with Jim. Sure, maybe he’s overreacting. But he knows that none of this is Jim’s fault. It’s Paul’s fault, for opening himself up. For allowing himself to _feel_ , and grow attached, and he’s just scared. Defensive. Because Jim made him feel something other than attraction, he made him feel jealousy, too. 

And Paul really can’t handle that shit. So, he did what he does best.

He cut contact with Jim.

And, since there’s no point in lying to himself, he does miss seeing Jim drop by his work. He misses his smile, and his dorky laugh, and just his presence in general. Jim had even tried calling Paul, five times, but Paul couldn’t answer him. Couldn’t admit to himself that he _just might be in love with Jim_ , and that’s probably the reason he feels so hurt. 

He had wanted Jim for himself. He _still wants_ Jim for himself. He’s greedy like that. And knowing that Jim had belonged to someone else, had _loved_ someone else, fucking _slept_ with someone else… well, Paul just doesn’t want to think about it. Doesn’t want to talk about it. He can’t. He knows he should have, but he can’t. 

There’s a few missed calls from Corey, as well. And Paul can’t even make himself talk to _him_ , his closest friend since highschool, the one who’s always had his back. Because Corey’s gonna ask him how things are with Jim. Or just how things are in general. And things are kinda shit right now, but Corey doesn’t need to know that. He has enough shit going on in his life, he doesn’t need Paul’s problems on top of everything else.

Paul really just wants to kick himself in the stomach. For hurting the people around him, just so he can protect himself. Just so he can throw his walls back up, and end up lonlier than he’s ever fucking been. 

And all for what?

So he doesn’t have to admit just how attached he is to Jim? The guy he met like two weeks ago, that turned his life around in the best way possible? 

To not allow himself to be in love, because he’s such a fucking coward, holding everyone at arms length, just because of his own selfish fears?

_I’m not a fucking coward, I’m just protecting myself. It’s justified._

_Yeah, ok. Just keep telling yourself that._

Paul turns over in his bed, an attempt to make himself fall asleep faster. To push away his intrusive thoughts.

It never works.

He sits up, slinging his legs over the side of the mattress. Stands up, drags himself to the bathroom. 

_I just want to forget him._

White chalky tablets fall into the palm of his hand. He twists the sink’s handle, metallic water sputtering out of the rusty faucet. Leans down to get a mouthful. Swallows hard.

Goes back to lay in bed, for who knows how long. Just until he’s finally at ease.

But no amount of pills have been able to wash away his guilt yet.

He’ll just have to keep trying.


	5. In My Little Box

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter than usual. I was originally going to make the ending one chapter but it didn't feel right, so I've decided to write it as two separate chapters instead.

Life is back to normal. And by normal, that means bad. But bad doesn’t seem _bad_ anymore, it just feels normal. Comfortable. Paul can’t seem to recall a time when things haven’t been bad. Except for those few days spent with Jim. But that’s not happening anymore. And as far as Paul knows, it’s not happening ever again. 

Jim hasn’t stopped by Paul’s work. Hasn’t rang his doorbell. Hasn’t given him a call in a while.

He must have given up.

Paul doesn’t blame him. He’d have done the same if he’d been in Jim’s shoes. Wouldn’t anyone, after two weeks of being ignored?

Though Corey remains persistent. If anything, his calls have become more frequent. At least twice a day. And he’s left quite a few voicemails. They started out lighthearted and good humored, but as days kept passing, Paul began to hear the concern in his friend’s voice. The hurt in his voice.

Paul almost called him back one one occasion, the only voicemail that Corey had been completely sober for while recording. Almost to tears. He was scared for Paul. And he had been confused, and lonely without his company. But he also sounded angry. Frustrated with his friend for leaving him, straight out of the blue. Paul had never been that social to begin with, but ignoring Corey for weeks must have really crossed a line.

He sighs, phone in hand, rolling over on his mattress to replay the last voicemail from his friend. 

_Paul, I’m fuckin tired of this shit. I don’t know what the hell’s goin’ on with you, but I don’t wanna keep bein’ ignored. It’s fuckin driving me nuts. Just… please, give me a call. Or at least a text. You don’t even needa tell me what’s happening, just tell me that you’re ok. Please._

It hurts to hear the effect he’s had on Cor. He just can’t seem to find the motivation to call him back. He feels ashamed, and embarrassed, yet so empty all at the same time. Yet somehow he’s managed to make himself get up for work every morning. 

Not today, though. He can’t. His head is killing him, he feels dizzy and sick and too tired to make an effort anymore. The worst part is knowing that all his problems live right next door, a few fucking yards away. He wonders what Jim is doing. 

He wonders if Jim’s had anyone over lately.

If he’s invited someone over for the night, just like he’d done with Paul.

Or maybe he and Mick made up.

_What kind of stuff did he do with Mick?_

Paul’s stomach churns.

_God, shut up, shut the fuck up._

He can’t get out of his head. Can’t claw himself out of this pit, this fucking box of jealousy, of self doubt, of emptiness and hopelessness and _dependency_. Opiates don’t even help anymore, they don’t do fucking anything. They just make him nauseous and give him migraines but hey, at least he’s feeling something. Even if it’s pain, it’s still something. 

Jim had made him feel something. Jim made him feel good things, made him feel better things, that didn’t hurt.

_Jim broke your heart._

_No, no he didn’t. I did._

_Jim cheated on you_

_Jim would never do something like that. Stop lying._

Paul can’t even make himself cry. It’s as if he had expected things to go wrong since the start, so he really isn’t even surprised. But maybe part of him had planned this. Maybe, there’s a side of him that had wanted this to happen. Wanted to push Jim away, and was just waiting for the perfect opportunity to do so. Self sabotage. Because Paul always ruins good things. Because he just can’t fucking accept anything good. Can’t even accept anything new, can’t accept change. So he runs away, hides under the covers until everything passes. Like a child.

And so he does exactly that. Pulls his covers up over his face, just lays there. Enveloped in darkness and silence. 

_Just the way things should be._

_This is nice._

It’s really not. But it’s what he’s been telling himself for the past few hours. So he’s bound to believe it at some point. 

… 

…

…

His phone is ringing. And no, he really doesn’t want to see who’s calling. Probably Corey. Again. He pulls the covers back down and fumbles around for his phone, giving the screen a quick glance.

Ah, shit. It’s his boss. He weighs his choices; either pick up and probably not get fired, or ignore him and most likely get fired. And, well, he can’t really afford to not have a job. So as much as his body wants to refuse, Paul taps the pick up button.

“Where the hell are you, man?” He sounds angry. Rightfully so.

Paul licks his lips, attempting to come up with an excuse that’s at least half believable. “Uh, hey, Chris, sorry. I’m sick today, shoulda given you a heads up. Uhm, I’ll probably be better tomorrow.”

Silence. Paul brings a hand up to rest on his forehead, it feels like his skull is splitting in half. Head throbbing. He doesn’t want to have this conversation right now.

The voice on the other end sighs. “Yeah, alright, fine. Just. The shop can’t really afford to have anyone else quitting. I need you over here as soon as you’re better, alright?”

Paul nods. Then mentally slaps himself, because he’s on call and Chris can’t see his face. “Yeah, sure thing.”

The other end clicks, and the call ends. At least it was a quick conversation. If there’s one thing he really appreciates about his boss, it’s how upfront the guy is. Straight to the point. No bullshit. Paul flops his arm back down on the bed, glancing up at his nightstand. The pill bottles are empty. He could have sworn he had plenty more to spare. He grunts and forces himself to sit upright, dragging himself to the bathroom. Tripping over an assortment of orange bottles on the way. Flicks on the fluorescent light, the pale whiteness almost blinding him, reflecting off the baby blue tiles. Opens up the medicine cabinet, digs around for a second before finding what he’s looking for. Just pours a small handful, not bothering to count. Just needs something in his body. Drinks from the tap. It leaves him with a slight metallic aftertaste on his tongue. Crawls back into his bed, his safe haven. 

And he pretty much just fucks off for the rest of the day. Lays there. Not like he has anything better to do. Let’s himself fall asleep for a few hours.

_Thunk._

Paul opens his eyes. Ignores whatever woke him up.

_Thunk._

Does he bother checking out what the sound was? Nah.

_Thunk._

Whatever it is really needs to try a bit harder to get Paul out of bed.

_Thunk._

Maybe it’s beginning to get on his nerves.

_THUNK._

Paul whips his head around to find the direction of the sound. It’s coming from the window. He squints for a minute, trying to figure out what was making the noise. Suddenly, something flies towards the glass and bounces off as quickly as it came. Confused, and not quite sleepy enough to make himself fall back asleep, Paul forces his legs to carry himself to the window, cupping his hands to get a clear view as he presses his face to the pane. 

A rock flies towards him, causing him to startle and jump back. Laughter rings from outside. Anger flares up in his chest, assuming it’s just some kid trying to fuck with him. 

That is, until he notices a familiar face holding a handful of rocks and pebbles.

Corey. Of course it was Corey. Paul can’t help the grin that finds itself on his face, because Corey is more or less still just a kid trying to mess with him. 

“Open the window, fucker!”

He doesn’t really have much of a choice in this, does he? That tends to be a reoccurring situation when it comes to the blonde. Paul unlocks the window in defeat and Corey smiles from ear to ear, climbing into Paul’s bedroom. Almost falls on his face during the process. Walks in as if he just owns the place. 

Glances at the mass of containers scattered about the floor and nightstand, smile faltering a bit. Then disappearing completely as he realizes, the entire damn room is a disaster. Dirty clothes strewn everywhere, microwavable meals from days ago laying about.

"Whoooaaaaa, _dude_. The fuck have you been doing in here?” Corey struggles to keep the worry out of his voice, eyebrows knitting together.

For a minute it doesn’t register what Corey is talking about, given Paul lives in that mess and it’s just his everyday life. But then he catches what Corey’s eyes are focused on, empty bottles on the ground and even kicked under his bed.

“Ah, shit, I kinda forgot about that stuff--”

Corey’s eyes widen. “ _Forgot?_ This is a normal thing for you?”

Paul swallows. He hadn’t been prepared to have this sort of talk at 4:00 in the afternoon on a Wednesday. He can already feel the anxiety pulsing through his veins, and the guilt from seeing Corey so concerned. No one was supposed to know about this.

Instead of responding, Paul just sits himself on the edge of his bed. Watching as the severity of the situation slowly dawns on his friend. Corey rests against the windowsill, one hand coming up to run through his curly hair.

“Paul.”

He looks to his friend. 

“Tell me what the fuck has been going on. Seriously, dude. You ignore my calls, and my voicemails, you don’t text me back, and now you’re not even going to work? Do you have any idea how fucking scared I was when your boss said he hadn’t seen you all day? Thought you were dead or some shit!”

Corey’s voice began raising in volume as he went on, Paul not bothering to stop him. He was obviously pretty worked up, and he knows from experience that interrupting the man only ever makes things worse.

“And now, _this!_ Fucking, I knew you had a bit of a problem, but this is _so fucking much_ ,” He begins pacing, voice faltering. “What the hell were you thinking? I’ve never seen you this bad!”

Paul’s throat suddenly feels tighter. He wants to give Corey an answer, wants to make him feel better, make him worry less. The words don’t seem to come to him. He focuses on the ground, staring down at his socks. Waiting for the words to come to him.

They don’t. 

“Paul, look at me. _Please_.

The guilt claws at his chest, he just wants to fucking scream, beg for forgiveness, make everything better. Make it up to Corey, make it up to Jim, make it up to Shawn and Joey and everyone else he’s ever left behind. Everyone who’s had to deal with his shit, with his selfish fucking way of living.

He finds Corey’s eyes. He doesn’t look angry. Or frustrated, or pissed. Just… sad. He’s leaning up against the windowsill again, hands shoved in his jacket’s pockets. “I just… I wanted to come over to check up on you, and honestly when I saw you at the window, I was just happy you were fuckin _alive_.”

Paul nods. Still not able to form a sentence good enough to explain anything at all.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Paul exhales, a bit shaky.

_Just tell him the truth._

“... I didn’t want you worrying. Didn’t wanna burden you.”

Corey laughs, but it’s strained. “Well, that didn’t work out for you very well, did it?”

He shakes his head no, forcing a small smile. “Clearly.”

“What even, like, spiraled you into this?” Corey’s voice is soft, gentle. He’s only trying to help. Even so, Paul can feel himself growing defensive. He picks at the skin around his fingernails. Attempts to think of an explanation that doesn’t make him sound like a complete and utter ass. Nothing really comes to him. So he braces himself to let it all out. Maybe it’ll feel better if he just doesn’t think too much. Just _says_ it. Whatever’s on his mind.

“Jim. My neighbor. We hit it off, we got drunk, and I ended up spending the night at his place.”

Corey’s mouth forms into a small “o”, his face turning a slight shade of pink.

Paul shakes his head. “No, nah, I mean, not like that. He just wanted some company, is all. And… I did too. And everything all happened so fast, I just. I got so attached to him and then shit happened and I got scared. And jealous. And I just didn’t wana lose him. Or, I didn’t want him to leave me. So I ended up leaving him. Which was really stupid because he wasn’t ever going to leave me in the first place but he just made me feel a lot of things and I- I couldn’t handle it, any of it, and I’m stupid for running away from everything good that happens to me and I got so upset about it I just stopped talking to you too because I didn’t want to have to explain everything. I was already too far gone, I really don’t think anything can help me now. I’m fucked up, Cor. I fuck everything up. I fucked my life up. I fucked my friendships up, _I almost lost you--_ ”

He stops when he feels warm tears run down his face, almost out of nowhere and he tries to wipe them, tries to hold them back but he can’t. He just can’t hold himself back anymore. His nails have dug so far into his skin he’s bleeding, fingertips red and hands scratched up and Corey makes a shushing noise, coming to sit next to him on the bed, wrapping an arm around him. Holding him there with his head on his shoulder, an attempt to give the man some sort of comfort. Paul sniffles and it sounds ugly but he just doesn’t care anymore. He’s shaking, his head is pounding and he wants to puke. 

After a few moments, Corey pulls away. Stands up and begins picking up the scattered pill bottles. 

“No, Corey, don’t fuckin do that, it’s my problem--”

“Shut it. I’m your friend, and it’s my goddamn job to help your ass out. We’re gonna get you through this, got it? I don’t wanna fuckin see you like this anymore. You’re hurting yourself, and me, and Jim.”

And there’s no changing his mind either, Paul’s certain of it. He has that look in his eyes. And in this moment, Paul is grateful for having a friend that worms his way into his life no matter how hard he tries to push him away. That’s just Cor. Can’t get rid of him.

He continues on, now with almost an armful of plastic bottles. “Speaking of Jim. You’re gonna talk to him. You need to. He’s your fuckin _neighbor_ , you can’t just avoid him forever.”

Paul sighs. Because he knows Corey is right. It’s common sense. Not every problem can be avoided by simply sticking fingers in your ears and shouting “la la la la” until it goes away. So he gets up and helps Corey out, bringing in a trash bin from the bathroom.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I just. I dunno how to do that.”

Corey scoffs. “C’mon, man. Really. He lives right next to you, all you gotta do is ring the doorbell.”

Paul wishes it were that easy, he really does. But he’s not even sure if Jim wants to see him, after everything. In fact, Paul hadn’t even stopped to consider how Jim was feeling about everything. A new sense of guilt washes over him as he tries putting himself in his shoes. Moving into a new town, hitting it off with someone, then the next day you just stop hearing from them. 

_I can’t believe I do this shit to people._

Corey dumps his findings into the bin, including a bottle that still has a few tablets in it. Paul just barely resists snatching the container from him, not wishing for the pills to go to waste. He could have saved those. Maybe he’ll dig them out later.

As Paul begins picking up empty food trays, he hears a grunt come from Corey. He’s wriggling himself under Paul’s bed, grabbing at more containers. “Dude. You need to get your shit sorted out. This is way too much.”

Paul raises an eyebrow. “What, you mean like, a therapist or something?”

The blonde pulls himself back up on two feet, looking over the progress they’ve made. “I mean, sure, but like. _Rehab._ ”

The suggestion almost sounds completely insane to Paul. His face heats up in embarrassment and defensiveness. “Says you. Can’t just say that and just pretend your drinking problem isn’t a thing.”

“I’ve been trying to work on that, thank you very much--”

“Hah, yeah right. You say that every time.”

Corey almost retorts with something, but for once, he just shuts his mouth. Shoulders dropping half an inch. 

“... yeah, I know.”

The room fills with a tense silence, other than the slight rustling of the trash bin and clank of pill bottles. Paul feels bad for bringing it up, but at the same time, he was justified. He thinks. But maybe he crossed a line. 

Though Paul doesn’t like seeing Corey get so drunk he pukes, almost every day. Doesn’t like how angry he gets when he isn’t sober, how different he acts. His body reacts poorly to alcohol, but clearly Corey doesn’t care. Paul wishes he did.

Then an idea sparks in his mind.

“If I go to rehab, so do you.”

Corey turns to face Paul. After a moment of hesitation, a small grin tugs at his lips. “Yeah, alright. I can do that. If it’s for you, I can handle it.”

Paul smiles, genuinely, for the first time in two weeks. It feels good. And suddenly Corey’s stumbling over to give him a hug, and Paul hugs him back with just as much effort. Feels Corey pat him on the back. 

_We got this. We can do this._

“So about Jim…” Corey starts, stepping away to pick up more trash.

Paul rolls his eyes. “You’re a nosey fucker.”

“You know you love me.”

“Unfortunately.” After a pause, he adds, “I’ll tell you about it later, alright?”

Corey smiles. “Deal!”

Paul’s world feels just a little brighter. He’s thankful for Corey. A bit nervous for what’s to come with the Jim situation, but hopeful nonetheless.


	6. Reconcile

Paul gives himself a quick rundown in the bathroom mirror. Splashes his face with cold water, an attempt to scrub away the sleep in his eyes. Shaves his overgrown stubble, sprays on his nicest bottle of cologne. Slides into his favorite band shirt, puts on his best pair of jeans, his cleanest pair of shoes. And he still only feels about halfway decent, but hey, it’s all he really has. 

It’s not like Jim’s going to care much for his appearance, anyway. He’ll probably just be glad to see Paul in the first place. Or at least, Paul hopes that’s the case. 

The night before, Corey and Paul had a brief discussion on how Paul should go about making his amends with Jim. And Corey had suggested visiting the man first thing in the morning, but Paul happens to have at least a pinch more common sense than his friend, instead opting to visit Jim after work rather than possibly rudely waking him up. 

And as he walks to his car, he feels exact those same butterflies he felt the very day he met Jim. They’re in his stomach and chest and rising to his throat and if he keeps stressing about things he just might throw up, and it makes him want to not drive and go curl up in his bed all day instead, but he really can’t be late for work. So he keeps a trash bag in the car seat next to him. Just in case.

Jim’s car is parked in his driveway. He’s home. Probably still asleep. Maybe. He has a comfy mattress. If Paul had a bed that nice, he’d still be asleep too. 

Actually, he’d still be asleep no matter what. But whatever. That doesn’t matter.

Paul hopes Jim doesn’t see him. He’s not ready for that yet. Too early in the morning.

Work seems to go by slower than usual. Minutes feel like hours. Hours feel like days. And Paul feels like he’s being crushed under the impending weight on his shoulders. He wishes he could have just fucking _talked_ to Jim, actually discussed what he had been feeling and been honest with him. Things would be much, much easier if that had been the case. Now he’s gone and made this mess out of something that wasn’t even that big of a deal in the first place. 

But that’s just Paul. Always making a mess out of things.

It’s a gloomy day. The weather makes Paul feel uneasy. Maybe it’s a message from some sort of deity, trying to tell him not to make things up with Jim, to just back out and have things go back to normal. It could be a sign to give up.

_Nah, that’s stupid. I’m a fucking atheist._

He’s not gonna let the weather throw him off. Even if it’s raining now, even if it feels like the thunder is screaming all these horrible things at him, he can’t back down now. He’s spent too much time worrying about everything to just not go through with the plan. _The plan_. If he can even call it that, it’s more like an idea that’s spiraled into action and he still isn’t sure what the hell he’s doing or how he’s going to do it. How he’s gonna talk to Jim.

Paul watches the rain pound against the shop’s window. Feels like it came out of nowhere. It pretty much did.

Like Jim, in a way. One day shit was normal, and the next his entire world seemed to flip upside down. Jim was his glimmer of hope, his salvation, his only escape from the hole he had dug for himself. 

Paul really hopes he can salvage things.

He hadn’t really considered what would happen if he _couldn’t_. What would life look like? Living next door to the man who could have saved your entire future, the man you could have loved and embraced and allowed to see the vulnerable side of you. The man who’s already seen that side of you. 

He’s gotta fix this. He won’t be able to live with himself if he fucks this up any further.

Paul’s been so lost in thought he hadn’t recognized the iconic ringing of a bell, the front door of the shop opening suddenly and shutting just as quickly. A familiar face gives Paul a small, half hearted smile. His long hair lays flat against his head and shoulders, a bit messy and soaking wet. 

“Oh good, you’re back at work. Weather’s pretty nasty today, huh?”

Paul shrugs, watching as his boss makes his way across the room. “Yeah… hasn’t rained like this in a while.”

A heavy silence falls between the two. They’ve never quite exchanged more than a few words, much less a full blown conversation. Chris awkwardly maneuvers around the counter, slipping behind Paul to jam his keys into the backroom door. 

Without looking away from his task, he pipes up. “So uh, how’ve you been lately?”

_Bad._

“Oh, you know. The usual. Just gettin’ by, I guess.”

Chris nods. Not that Paul saw him do so, as he’s currently busy staring at his own hands because that’s interesting. Fiddling with his thumbs, unsure of how to carry on the small talk. Paul hates small talk.

His boss lets out a huff that sounds something similar to a chuckle. “Yeah, I get that. Life can be cruel.”

And to that, Paul isn’t sure how to respond. He doesn’t remember saying anything about life being cruel. Chris mumbles something under his breath, assuming Paul can’t hear him. Something about his ex wife and the way she fucked him over. Paul doesn’t question him.

Without another word, he disappears into the backroom for the rest of the day. 

Looks like it’s just him and the rain again.

Paul mindlessly scrolls through his phone, a way of occupying himself while business is slow. 10 minutes til he’s off. Just 10 minutes. That’s like, 600 seconds. 600 seconds until he’s on the road back to his house. Back to Jim’s house, knocking on his door, standing in the rain, begging for forgiveness. Maybe Jim will be kind and let him inside. Maybe they can talk like they used to.

540 seconds. 

480 seconds.

Maybe he should close up early?

420 seconds.

360 seconds.

His body feels warm. Nerves are rattling around in his chest.

5 minutes now. Only 5 minutes.

He can close the store 5 minutes early. Not like Chris will care. Paul can’t make himself sit here for much longer, he’ll probably explode if he does. He just needs to talk to Jim. _He needs Jim_. He needs to go.

Paul speedily tidies up, flips over the shops sign to “Closed” and scurries through the heavy downpour of rain, without stopping to look back. Out the shop and into the world. He finds his car across the parking lot and hurries in, fumbling with his keys impatiently.

He feels like he needs to be quick. Like if he wastes any time, it’ll be too late and Jim will be gone and Paul will never be able to see him again. Which is unrealistic and unnecessary but he doesn’t care, all he cares about is seeing Jim. 

And all the nerves he’s been pushing back are suddenly flooding in and his hands are shaky on the wheel, but he doesn’t care. Lightning flashes bright and it practically rattles his core. He doesn’t care.

The road is blurry and his windshield wipers are chugging hard. The world around him feels like an ocean of water, running down his car and onto the asphalt below his tires, like it’s trying to slow him down and pull him under. He doesn’t want to be pulled under, he can’t, but he should probably slow the hell down before he skids off the road for going 75 on a 50 while it’s raining. He’d like to maybe not die today.

Or at least, he’d like to be alive long enough just to see Jim. And if things go bad, then he can die. But not yet.

Paul’s car slows to a stop. He’s _here_. Oh god. _Fuck_.

_Deep breaths. Deep breaths. It’s gonna be fine._

The rain hasn’t let up, still pouring down hard. Fucking sheets of it. Paul inhales, a little shaky. A little nauseous. He wishes he wasn’t freaking out so bad.

Now that he’s here, he isn’t in such a hurry. He almost doesn’t want to leave his car. 

_I didn’t come all this way for nothing_.

Or did he? What if it all messes up, what if Jim doesn’t even answer the door? What if Jim has someone over? 

No. There’s no other car in the driveway other than his own, and Jim’s. Paul just needs to man up and fucking _get out of the car_.

His arm slowly finds the door handle. Fingers gripping tightly.

_Do it, do it, just do it--_

The door swings open and Paul’s stomach lurches at the same time, and suddenly his breakfast is all over Jim’s driveway. 

_Fuck, shit, that wasn’t supposed to happen--_

And then Jim’s front door is opening and Paul hears footsteps nearing him but he can’t look up because he’s still puking, and Jim’s voice rings out but it’s muffled by the rain and Paul's dry heaving but he sounds concerned. 

“Paul, _Paul_ , what the fuck, are you okay?”

Paul spits. Stomach acid burns in his throat but he manages a response. “Yeah, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I just--”

The interior of his car is getting soaked but so is he and Jim and everything’s just really uncomfortable. Paul did not prepare for this. I mean, he kinda did with the plastic bag in his car but he wasn’t intending to vomit on Jim’s driveway, and rain is getting everywhere and this is just such a bad time.

But then Paul hears loud pitter patters above his head but nothing’s landing on him and oh hello, Jim’s brought an umbrella out with him. And he’s holding it above the two.

How romantic.

Suddenly Paul wishes he had died on the way here.

“D’you- d’you wanna come inside?”

Paul looks up at Jim for the first time. He looks tired and startled and really fucking confused all at the same time and Paul doesn’t blame him one bit. Thunder rumbles low in the distance, sudden and almost unnerving. Inside sounds nice.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be good.”

Jim extends an arm. Paul takes it. He doesn’t want to look him in the eyes. Slowly he stands, seething with embarrassment as he shuts the car door. Doesn’t make eye contact with the puke. Ick.

The pair makes it to Jim’s porch. They’re still holding hands, Paul notes. That can’t be a bad sign. Or maybe Jim’s just taking pity on him. 

He’s back in Jim’s house. It feels weird. Like he doesn’t quite belong here, but he’s slept here before and kissed Jim here before and fucking recorded music here before but it still feels off. Jim shuts the door behind the two, leaving the umbrella under the porch. 

It’s quiet now. The rain has become nothing but white noise, somewhere far away in the background and irrelevant. The air feels dense and full of awkward tension and it makes Paul want to gag every time he breathes in. He shivers.

“Here, I’ll get you a towel and something dry to wear. Just uh, wait in the bathroom, alright?”

Paul nods. There’s too many words rattling around in his head and he’s worried that if he opens his mouth the wrong thing will come out. Or more vomit. Jim gives a weak smile before he disappears into his bedroom down the hall, and Paul trudges to the bathroom. 

Looks himself in the mirror.

_My god, I’m a fucking wreck._

He’s completely soaked. His eyes are red and teary because, you know. He just puked everywhere. He can still taste it. Yuck. Paul turns on the faucet and runs the water into his hands, bringing them up to his mouth to swish it around and get the taste out. He spits and rinses out the sink. 

_How the hell am I supposed to explain myself after that?_

His hands come up to rub at his eyes. More out of disappointment than anything. They drag down his face and his fingernails claw at his cheeks. He huffs, frustrated and anxious but at least the nausea has subsided. 

Jim comes back around the corner and peaks into the bathroom. “You good, man?” 

Paul isn’t sure how to respond. The answer is always going to be no, but he can’t really ever say that because he’s been taught that actually answering that question honestly isn’t appropriate. Isn’t socially acceptable. 

“Yeah, ‘m fine.”

Jim’s eyebrows knit together a bit, just enough for Paul to read the expression on his face. He’s worried. Sympathetic. And Paul appreciates it, but it doesn’t quite make him feel better about the whole situation.

“Well, here’s some clothes,” he offers Paul a hoodie and sweats. “I’ll be in my room, if you wanna talk later or something…”

Yes, that is the entire reason Paul is here to begin with. To talk. He has no idea. “Thanks. Just give me a minute.”

Jim nods. He has something of a somber look in his eyes. It makes Paul feel guilty. And he only feels even worse after shutting the bathroom door, suddenly hyper aware of the kind of shit Jim has gone through recently. This must not be a very great first impression of the town. 

Paul peels off his damp clothing and tosses it to the side. He dries off his hair with a towel and pats himself down before putting on the dry clothes. The all too familiar detergent hits him right in the face, a flash of deja vu catching him off guard. He remembers his first time in Jim’s bathroom, except he had been putting on his own clothes. Still, the flowery vanilla detergent is something he never quite forgot. 

Quietly, Paul exits the bathroom. Still not sure how or what he’s going to say to Jim. Maybe he’ll just wing it. Tell him how he feels. It’ll be fine. Probably.

He turns a corner and glances into Jim’s room. He’s sitting on his bed, legs crossed, eyes on his phone. But he’s not scrolling or anything, just staring. He seems lost in thought. 

Paul clears his throat.

Jim’s head shoots up and he locks eyes with Paul. He leans over to lay his phone on the bedside table, patting his hand on the bed. Offering Paul to sit. Paul’s surprised Jim is being so calm about the whole thing, but he’s grateful at the same time. He’s only ever seen Jim get angry once, and it’s something he doesn’t ever want to experience again for as long as he can. Paul shuffles across the room and towards the bed, feeling the mattress dip under his weight. He finds himself sitting across from Jim, a foot or so of space between the two. 

Paul looks around the room. Jim’s done a bit more decorating since the last time they’ve spoken. There’s now a few paintings hung on his walls, along with guitar stands and a desk leaned against the corner. He has a candle lit on his night stand, that and his bedside lamp being the only source of light. And the occasional lightning flash outside the window. The window. 

He has curtains now. Good to know.

It’s still raining hard but not quite as bad as it had been earlier. 

“It’s… been a while, huh?” Paul glances down at his hands, waiting for Jim to say something in response. He idly picks at the skin around his fingers. 

Jim isn’t having it. “Paul, what’s been going on with you?”

The sudden harshness of Jim’s tone feels like a cold slap to the face. It wasn’t directly _mean_ , but it wasn’t very endearing either. Paul was hoping he’d be able to avoid all the explaining. But Jim clearly deserves an explanation. An answer to why Paul left him out of the blue. But before Paul can get a word out, Jim sits up a bit, bringing his hand to run through his damp hair.

“I just wanna know why you’re here. You fucking… ignore me for like, two weeks, you don’t tale my calls or open my texts and the next thing I know, you’re in my driveway puking everywhere and now you just wanna talk like everything’s fine? Like it’s all good and dandy? I’m a forgiving guy, Paul, but this is just… I don’t even know.” He exhales shakily, and Paul can hear his voice falter a bit. “I really thought we had something… I just want an explanation. That’s all.”

_He hates your guts now, doesn’t he? Look at what you’ve done to him._

Paul swallows. Jim sounds like he’s on the verge of tears. Paul doesn’t like being the reason for that. The reason for his suffering. 

“I…” His fist clenches. He’s frustrated, he can’t seem to find the right words. Nothing can explain exactly how he feels, nothing can describe the weight in his chest. “Jim, fuck, _I’m sorry_ , I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I didn’t want to leave you out of nowhere, it’s all my fault. It really is, you didn’t do anything wrong, I just want to fix this but I don’t know how. I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve never had to deal with these emotions before, I don’t know what I’m doing. I left you because I was scared. I left you because you made me feel good, you made me happy and I felt accepted and appreciated and genuinely cared for--” 

He chokes, he’s fucking crying and this is embarassing, humiliating and he feels so exposed. Like a raw nerve ending, sensitive and overstimulated.

“I fucked it up, I know I did. I was jealous of Mick. Really fucking jealous. I handled this like a child, I’m sorry, I’m _sorry_ , Jim.”

He’s looking at Jim with pleading eyes. He doesn’t care anymore if he’s crying, maybe Jim will see how much he cares. Maybe he’ll forgive him. Or at least pity him, just _something_.

Jim bites his lip. Looks down into his lap where his hands lay, fingers intertwined. Thunder shakes the house. “Paul… I’m really upset with you, Like, _hurt_ , even. But…” He looks into Paul’s sincere brown eyes. “Do you even realize that, I’m also really fucking in love with you?”

_He… what?_

Paul can’t believe what he hears for a second. A few seconds, actually. Someone loves him. Jim loves him.

_He said he loves you._

_He loves you, Paul._

And suddenly the room feels different. Paul’s entire world feels different. It feels… brighter. Like he’s just realized that hey, he’s not totally unlovable. And maybe he’s actually _able to love_. Because he’s never met a guy like Jim. He’s never met someone he’s cared so much about. 

He knows he loves Jim. He’s always known it, he could just never admit it.

“Jim, fuck, I- I feel the same.”

Jim smiles, eyes watery. He’s been holding back. Trying to keep himself together. A single tear falls down the corner of his face, leaving a wet streak across his cheek. He smiles, faint but genuine. “I’m glad.”

Paul brings a hand up to wipe away Jim’s tears, leaning forward and pressing their foreheads together. He laughs to himself, soft and airy. “We’re a bit dysfunctional, aren’t we?”

Jim grins. “Only in the best way possible.”

And when their lips finally meet, all is forgiven. Jim tastes sugary sweet, the sensation melting in Paul’s mouth. There’s still so much he wants to say, so he lets the kiss say it for him. With the rain and the thunder and all the emotions floating about, Paul can’t bring himself to focus on words right now. Only Jim. Jim and his pretty eyes, his dainty hands and perfect waist, where Paul’s hands belong. They belong on Jim’s body, their entire reason for being is to feel and hold Jim in his arms. 

Paul bites Jim’s bottom lip as the taller crawls onto his lap, running his slender fingers through his short hair. He deepens the kiss, causing Paul to let out a muffled moan into Jim’s mouth. 

_He’s all mine._

He rubs circles into Jim’s hips, heart fluttering at the soft noises spilling from the back of Jim’s throat. He wants to be as close as possible to him, wants to hold him and never let him go. Jim pulls away to begin wriggling off his shirt, grinding down onto Paul with pure need. They both need this. It’s a release of tension, a release of pent up _everything_. Frustration, sadness, desperation and separation from each other. All forgiven and forgotten. Paul wastes no time feeling Jim up and down, exploring the exposed skin, brushing his fingers against his ribs and sides. Jim squirms above him, mouth half open in silent plea. He wants more. Paul can feel him throbbing through his pants, pressed hard against his own erection.

Their lips crash back together, much more needy and desperate than before. Paul grunts as their teeth clash, bucking up into Jim. His hands dig into Jim’s sides as the man rocks back and forth on his lap, muffled moans spilling from his swollen lips. Jim whines lowly, tugging at Paul’s hoodie, clearly wanting it off. 

“A bit needy, are we?” Paul jokingly comments.

Jim huffs impatiently, only tugging at the shirt more. Paul rolls his eyes and obliges, sucking Jim’s lower lip before pulling back to toss his shirt to the side. He leans into Jim again, lips barely touching the other’s, his breath tickling Paul’s skin. Jim's panting, chest rising and falling, skin flushed red and eyes shining with lust. He breaks into a grin.

“I like your lip rings…”

Paul hums in acknowledgement, mouthing kisses along Jim’s jawline. “Yeah?”

Jim whimpers quietly, arching into Paul’s touch. “Mhm…”

Paul decides to take advantage of this newfound knowledge. His lips ghost over the side of Jim’s neck, pressing feather light kisses into the warm sensitive flesh. He can feel Jim squirm at the sensation, his reaction only boosting Paul’s confidence. He sucks at one of his veins, relishing in the way Jim gasps and swears under his breath.

He’s never been with a guy before, but he seems to be doing just fine so far.

“I want you on your back, baby.”

Jim obediently falls back, scooting himself onto the pillows behind him. And for a second Paul’s heart stops at the sight in front of him, Jim sprawled out, blushing and exposed, all for him. Paul finds he can’t resist the urge to dive down and explore more of Jim, planting kisses down his chest and to his tummy, nipping at the skin. He drags his tongue along Jim’s v-line and Jim trembles against Paul’s wet tongue, dizzy for more. His cock is strained against his pants, and Paul realizes that he himself is painfully hard. 

He loops a finger around the waistband of Jim’s sweats. “You want these off?”

Jim nods frantically, mumbling little ‘please’s and ‘yeah’s. Paul teases him a bit, slowly tracing his finger along the bulge in Jim’s pants before he yanks them down, pulling his boxers as well. 

And. 

Wow. 

Hooo boy. 

The first word that pops into Paul’s head is, _big_. Because… yeah. Hot damn. 

Suddenly the intensity of the situation begins catching up with Paul. This is Jim, laying underneath him with a boner that could take out a fucking country, and he’s expecting Paul to, y’know. Fuck him. To actually know what he’s doing.

Jim catches wind of Paul’s hesitation. His eyes soften, and he leans up to cup a hand around Paul’s cheek. “You alright? We don’t have to keep going if you’re not ready…”

And Paul’s immediate reaction is _no, keep going,_ but that’s just his dick talking. The reality is, he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. But he does know he wants Jim, and he wants to make Jim happy, so if Jim wants this then Paul does too. And yeah, the sex is a nice bonus.

_It can’t be that hard. You just need lube and some prep, right?_

Paul shakes his head. “No, no, I’m good. Just uh, never done something like this with a dude before.”

Jim hums, hand still pressed against Paul’s cheek. His thumb gently caresses the flesh, a comforting gesture. “Don’t stress about it. You’re doing great so far, I promise.”

Paul manages a small smile, despite the anxiety beginning to pool in his gut. He tries his best to push it down and ignore the feeling. He just _really_ doesn’t want to hurt Jim.

Jim’s hand falls away, instead gliding down Paul’s side to grab at his pants. “Let’s get these off, yeah?”

Paul’s breath hitches. That’s Jim’s hand, mere inches away from his dick. His skin prickles where Jim’s fingers are gripping, and all he can do in response is bite his lip tentatively. Jim tugs Paul’s bottoms down and Paul kicks them all the way off. He can’t help the shyness that bubbles up in his chest and rises to his cheeks. Hopefully the blush isn’t too noticeable. 

The look that Jim gives him doesn’t help the matter at hand, as dark green eyes run up and down his now fully exposed body, lingering at his leaking cock.

“My god, Paul, you’re so pretty… c’mere.”

Jim grabs at Paul’s hips and scoots him closer, wrapping his long legs around his waist. The skin against skin sensation drives Paul mad. He feels himself twitch as his erection brushes against Jim’s, causing both men to gasp. Jim extends an arm out to open the bedside table’s drawer, fishing out a bottle of lube and a condom.

_Well, he’s awfully prepared._

Paul shoves the twinge of curious jealousy out of his mind, focusing himself back on the situation at hand. Jim’s handing him the items, an eager glow on his face. Paul grabs the lube and sets it aside, then tears the plastic wrapping off the condom. It slides on easily, and to Paul’s relief, seems to fit comfortably enough. To hide his uncertainty, Paul decides to get Jim to tell him what he wants, rather than having to figure it out on his own and look like a fool in the process. He leans down to kiss Jim’s temple, allowing his breath to tickle his ear.

“Tell me what you want, baby…”

Jim bites his lip and rocks his hips into Paul. “ _Fuck_ , want you to finger me, please,” he chokes out.

Paul’s stomach does flips at the request. Reaching out for the lube, he lathers his fingers with the liquid before laying it back on the bed. He sits back a bit, bringing his free hand up to grab at Jim’s ass, kneading the flesh. One of his fingers circles Jim’s hole, teasing him but mainly just buying himself some extra time. 

_I got this. I’m gonna make him feel good._

Jim’s hole puckers and his thighs clench around Paul’s waist. One of his hands is fisted in the sheets, the other fisted at his mouth to hold back his moans. But Paul doesn’t want that. He wants to hear Jim, wants to hear him crying his name, wants to take him apart and watch him come undone.

His index finger slowly sinks in, all the way to the knuckle. Jim’s still not making any noise. Determined, Paul drags his finger along his walls, torturously slow. Jim whimpers a bit. Paul adds in a second finger, watching as Jim struggles to keep quiet. Paul brings his hand up to pull Jim’s clenched fist away from his mouth. He pins his wrist down on the mattress, finding a sort of guilty pleasure in watching Jim writhe and struggle beneath him.

“Come on, Jim, I wanna hear you,” he purrs, pressing his lips to Jim’s forehead. Jim mewels in response, large green eyes staring up at Paul, begging for more. Paul gives his fingers an experimental curl, feeling around Jim to find his sweet spot. 

A loud gasp and a shaky moan tells Paul he’s hit jackpot, unable to wipe the grin off his face as he abuses Jim’s sensitive bundle of nerves. Jim’s back arches up and his cock spurts, smearing precum onto Paul’s stomach as well as his own. “Hm? You like that?”

Jim nods and whines, insides clenching around Paul’s digits. 

“Want me to fuck you?”

He nods again, babbling out Paul’s name, already losing the last of his composure. 

“Say it, I wanna hear you say it.”

Jim grunts and whimpers, voice broken and desperate. “Please, fuck me, I wanna feel you inside me, wanna be close to you--”

Something switches in Paul’s mind. Any uncertainty he may have had has fizzled away, now only focused on one goal: make Jim his. Make Jim scream his name, make Jim feel good, _make Jim his_.

He lets go of Jim’s wrist and pulls his fingers out of him, noting the way Jim whimpers at the loss of touch. Paul pops the cap of the lube and drizzles some onto his cock, a bit of the cold substance dripping onto Jim’s abdomen. His back arches at the sensation.

Paul lathers it along his length, thrusting into his tight fist before lining up with Jim’s entrance. His heart is racing, all the blood rushing out of his head and straight to his cock. Slowly he pushes the tip in, studying Jim’s face for any sort of discomfort. Jim’s eyebrows knit together in a focused pleasure, eyes locking with Paul’s. He looks so fucking good like this, all submissive and needy. 

_And it’s all for you._

Paul pushes in further and Jim wraps his arms around Paul’s neck, mouth agape and panting hard. He keeps sinking in, deeper and deeper until he bottoms out, hips pressed flush against Jim’s ass. Jim pulls Paul down into a kiss, it’s so sweet and gentle but so raw and full of need, and Jim’s sucking at Paul’s tongue in a way that makes Paul want to pound into him like a fucking animal. His arms find themselves at Jim’s waist, grabbing at the flesh hard enough to leave bruises. He presses his forehead to Jim’s, pulling away from the kiss to move his hips back slightly and thrusting into the man. Jim chokes out something of a sob and Paul does it again, feeling the warm wet heat clench and contract around his cock.

“You’re mine, you know that?” He growls against Jim’s lips.

Jim moans as Paul continuously thrusts into him, nodding his head yes. “Mmm, _fuck_ , yeah, yeah, I’m yours, I’m all yours baby, _shit_ , more, please--”

Paul begins angling his thrusts and Jim practically howls, fingernails raking down Paul’s back as he throws his head against the pillows. 

“Look at you, you take it so well, so good for me…”

Jim sobs and tears well in his eyes, spilling onto his cheeks and running into the pillows. And Paul would be under exaggerating if he were to compare Jim to an angel right now. Face contorted in pure bliss, mouth hanging open, face shiny and wet with drool and tears. Paul brings a hand down to stroke Jim’s cock, pumping his fist in time with his thrusts, watching as Jim comes undone. 

The heat in his stomach is growing, pooling like liquid fire and he can tell Jim’s close by the way his voice raises in pitch, his moaning becoming less coherent and more frantic. 

_Make Jim feel good, make him scream, make him yours._

Paul mouths against Jim’s neck, sucking and biting at the flesh. “You gonna come for me? Gonna scream my name?”

Jim’s so fucked out he can barely respond, a gurgling sound rising in his throat as he whines and writhes under Paul. He can feel his orgasm building, fire spreading through his abdomen and into his thighs and his thrusts begin losing their steady pace, becoming erratic and animalistic, chasing his own climax while Jim holds onto Paul for dear life. 

And Paul isn’t sure who came first, but all he remembers is hearing his name on Jim’s lips and white hot flashes, burying himself impossibly deep into Jim and the words _I love you_ being repeated over and over and over. And it was good. And he’s happy, nuzzled into the crook of Jim’s neck, still deep inside of him, cum that doesn’t belong to him sticking to his stomach and smeared across Jim’s chest. 

He slowly begins recovering from his high, vision becoming a bit clearer and fog dispersing from his brain. 

And oh, maybe he should pull out now. Jim still seems to be on another planet and Paul can’t blame him for that, and he whines as Paul’s warmth begins moving away. His arms wrap around Paul in retaliation, refusing to let the man leave. Yeah, ok, it’s fucking cute and it melts Paul’s heart, but he also needs to get the cum off his stomach and the latex off his dick. 

Paul leans down to kiss the corner of Jim’s lips. “Gotta get cleaned up, I’ll be back.”

Jim huffs, but his grip relents. Paul is sure to make note of Jim’s post-orgasm cuddle tendencies. He practically rolls himself off the bed, peeling off the condom and throwing it into the bathroom’s trash can, then slips on a pair of sweats, though he isn’t sure whether it was his pair of Jim’s. He grabs a towel from a cabinet and wipes the sticky fluid off his stomach before making his way back towards the bed to do the same for Jim.

His green eyes are a little unfocused but he smiles up at Paul with such sincerity that Paul can’t help but toss the towel to the side and crawl back in bed with him. Jim’s warm and despite having just drooled all over himself and sweat at least a gallon, he smells nice to Paul. 

This is nice.

This is right.

This is how things should be.

Jim presses his back against Paul’s chest, exhaling sleepily. Paul’s arm wraps around his waist and pulls him closer, impossibly close. He feels like if he lets go, Jim will float away or fizzle out of existence. Part of him is still in denial of everything that’s happened today, half convinced that it’s all just a dream. He isn’t sure what he’d do if it really were.

Paul exhales slowly. “... I don’t ever wanna lose you again.”

Jim’s hand comes up to squeeze Paul’s. He’s silent for a beat, before murmuring out a response. “Then don’t ever leave me again.”

The words feel like they should hurt, but they don’t. Because they’re not intended to. Paul’s eyes close, the sound of rain lightly tapping against the roof. His lips press to the back of Jim’s neck.

“I won’t. I promise.”

And everything else in the world is irrelevant, unimportant, someplace far away. Jim’s breathing slowly begins to deepen, and before Paul knows it, he’s drifted off along with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a bit longer than expected to come out, but I'm pretty satisfied with the ending! I hope you all enjoyed my first longfic, if you can even really call it that. It was definitely fun to write, and it's a bit bittersweet to be finally finishing it.
> 
> Thanks for reading! You guys are awesome for sticking around for the ride.


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